Super Human
by PoppySloan
Summary: Steve finds himself caught up in a case, which he never realized, due to the worries about his Dad and Minnie. Will he figure it out before it is too late?  NEXT PART OF CHAPTER 12 IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This story is a sequel to Helen's story 'Only Human'.**

**Thank You very much, Helen, for giving me permission to write this.**

**The story takes place after Mark's return home from hospital, where his left arm had to be amputated after a car accident. It will only tell how father and son deal with the new situation. Helen's characters will not appear in this.**

**This is my first fan fiction, and I hope You enjoy reading it.**

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**Thank You, AOK2, jj, and he he eh, for taking the time to give me at least a little feedback.**

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**- Super Human -**

Steve parked his tall Crown Vic in the yard of their Malibu beach home, and rushed through the gate house and up the flight of stairs to the front door, eager to get home.

It has been the first day his dad had spent alone at home.

All day Steve had to actively refrain from picking up the phone and make sure how his dad got along, and maybe offer to come home early.

He was still amazed by Mark's speedy recovery, and the ease with which he had accepted his disability.

Steve himself had way more of a hard time with it, and in the privacy of his own mind admitted that the sight of ... the new shape of his dad's arm - Goodness, not even in his mind he was comfortable with the word 'stump'!

He swallowed the lump he now felt so often in his throat, and opened the door.

"I'm home Dad." he announced, his voice carefully neutral, and maybe even a bit merry, and ascended the stairs to the living room with two strides. "Dad?"

"Here Son, in the kitchen." Mark's voice came from said direction, followed by a mighty clutter of silverware on the floor.

Steve darted into the kitchen. "Are you alright?"

He found his dad standing amidst all cutlery they owned, with the drawer hanging from his prosthetic arm, and a sheepish smile on his face. "Hoo, you won't believe how powerful this hook is." he said, and shook his arm to get rid of the drawer.

Steve rolled his eyes, and stepped carefully between the cutlery on the floor, taking hold of the drawer. "Now, move your shoulder." he instructed, and laid his hand there to support the motion.

The hook opened, and released the drawer from its iron grip.

Steve laid it on the counter, and led his father out of the pile of silverware with a steadying hand.

"Steve." Mark burred gently. "I lost my arm. But I can still walk just fine."

Steve wouldn't let go, and seated Mark on a stool by the island. "Dad, what are you doing in the kitchen anyway? I told you to call Bob's when you are hungry. They gonna deliver whatever you need and..."

He bit his tongue in time, before he said that his employees would also help him cut up his meals.

He grabbed the drawer, and began to pick up the scattered contents.

"And I really appreciate that, Son. But there is no reason why I shouldn't prepare dinner for us. You don't want to live on pizza or Chinese from now, or would you? I just have to get a bit more used to this."

Steve looked around the messy kitchen. There were squeezed up vegetables on the counter and the floor, a broken egg, and spills everywhere.

A hot sizzle startled them, and Mark jumped up to lift the lid of a pot, and stir the contents vigorously.

Steve heaved another sigh, but this time more indulgent. He knew of course that he couldn't wrap his dad up in cotton wool, and set him on his couch for the rest of his life.

And he really admired his dad's grit and determination.

"You know," Mark said cheerfully, "it takes the brain some time to get used to using the opposing shoulder to move the hand, especially after having it done for seventy years. But," he added brightly, and lifted the lid from another pot, "this thing sure has its advantages."

And with the air of a magician who is about to perform a miracle, he reached into the boiling water. After some tries he caught a potato, and lifted it triumphantly out, smushing the arable crop to pulp by the motion.

Mark bit his lower lip, trying to appear rueful, but the amused chuckle came out anyway.

"I tell you. This thing is powerful. You be glad that I didn't have it yet when you were little." He shook his arm, clicking the hook on the countertop to make the mush come off. "If I had tweaked your ears with _this..."_

He trailed off merrily, ant turned to the sink to wash the hook.

Steve was listening politely while he cleaned up the floor, but he still wouldn't say anything.

Mark breathed a little sigh, and deemed it wise to not put any more on his son's shoulders right now, and stop the mischief. He knew Steve was having the hardest time accepting his disability, especially because it was an amputation. Had his arm been saved, and just been paralyzed and useless, it would have been a lot easier for Steve to cope with it, because he would still have been whole.

But a stump is a scary sight, that needs some time to getting used to.

Even for himself. He certainly was grateful that he didn't have to bother with a useless appendage, and had a working tool instead. But the sight of the stump was still strange.

"So, how was work today, Son?" he asked in an upbeat way. "Any new leads in your case?"

"I... er... no. Not really." Steve muttered.

"Why is that? Didn't anything come from the DNA you said you wanted to have checked?"

"No... yes... possibly."

Mark looked up. "Out with it, Son. What is it?"

"Er, listen Dad," Steve didn't dare look up from his task of wiping the egg from the floor. "it's not my case anymore. I handed it over to Kincaid."

"Why would you do that?" Mark asked exasperated, although he had a pretty good idea why.

Steve tossed the paper towel in the trash, and rose to his feet. "I felt I was too emotionally involved. Burnside and I have become quite good friends over the years." He wetted a cleaning rag, and wiped the sticky spot on the floor. "Gives me time to catch up with my paper work too. - I talked to the Chief. Captain Johnson of the Malibu precinct is going to retire next month, and I think it is about time that I accept a promotion."

Mark sighed. He knew that Steve was doing all that for him. The position of a captain would be more administrative, and meant a more regular schedule of normal work hours from eight to five.

Plus the new position would be closer to home, making it possible to be here quick in a case of emergency.

The progress of Steve's career would have made Mark incredibly proud.

Had he not known that his son had avoided a promotion for so long, because he didn't want to be tied to a desk.

The kitchen timer went off, and saved him an answer right now_._

"Steve, you wanna set the table?"

Steve nodded, and washed his hands in the sink.

"Soup plates please, and spoons."

When his son had left the kitchen, he removed the lid from a pot, and simply reached in with his hook, to get the plastic bowl out of the hot water, and smiled about how easy that was now.

He turned the bowl over single-handedly, and reached for the long knife.

"Hmm," Steve came back into the kitchen, taking in the scent with a pleased expression. "we gonna have soup?"

"With egg cubes, just like you love it." Mark confirmed.

Steve sniffed into the tall pot, and then picked up the pot cloths, to pour the soup into the tureen.

It was thick with noodles, various vegetables, and big chunks of beef.

"This smells delicious."

Mark smiled. It wasn't often that he got praise for his cooking from his son.

He scooped up the first cubes he had cut on the flat side of the knife, and dropped them into the tureen.

"Here, let me do this." Steve said, and took the knife from Mark's hand. "You go and have a seat."

Mark heaved an inward sigh, but didn't want to argue now.

And he indeed was glad to sit down now.

He had to admit that a whole day of therapy, shopping, and cooking, had let him reach his limits.

Breathing was still hard, after the pleurisy he had developed in hospital, and more often than not he had actually felt his age those last couple of weeks.

He opened the deck door, and sat down at the set dining table.

The fresh sea breeze felt good in his lungs.

He leaned back, and took in pleasantly deep breaths.

"You look tired, Dad." Steve said, setting the tureen down on the table. "You really shouldn't have done the cooking."

"I'm fine, Son." Mark assured him gently. He rested his artificial arm in his lap, and laid the napkin over it. "But you see, I have to start with something. Lying around on the couch all day won't get me any fitter."

Steve filled their plates. "Yeah, so what? You don't have to worry over your chores at all. Let me hire a full time house help. I already ..."

"Steve," Mark cut him gently short. "we already talked about that. All that your Mom could agree to, was to have somebody help with the laundry. She never liked strangers in the house."

"Dad!"

"No Son. I would feel like I'm betraying her."

Steve sighed, and for some moments they ate in silence.

"Steve," Mark pointed his spoon at the set, "there is the salt."

"No need, Dad. This is excellent."

Mark breathed an inaudible sigh, and rolled his eyes when his son didn't look.

The amount of salt in their food had been a constant source for quips and banters before.

"So, how was your day, Dad?"

"Fine Son. Not a single problem I ran into."

"When will the .." Steve involuntarily cleared his throat, ".. permanent prosthesis be ready?"

"A couple more weeks." Mark replied. "There still is some swelling. - By the way." He put his spoon down, and dug into his pocket. "Can you please get these compression socks from the shop tomorrow?"

Steve took the yellow slip of paper. "Sure."

He put it in his wallet, and stuck that back in his back pocket.

"Say Dad, when you get that new prosthetic arm, will you get ... uh, something more advanced? I read about these computerized hands that get connected to your nerves and..." He trailed off before he mentioned how realistic they look, and felt a slight hue of red on his ears.

"I don't think so, Son." Mark replied gently. "These computerized hands are still in development, and unless you are a wounded soldier it's very hard to get into these programs. And also they are very difficult to operate. It needs months and months of full time training. I really think I should stick to the hook. It's simple to use, very versatile, and durable. It really is the best solution."

Steve nodded, looking down on his plate.

Mark wanted to pat his son's hand, and comfort him, tell him that he would get used to it.

But Steve was sitting by his left side, and he sure wouldn't stress him by patting his hand with his hook.

And if he addressed his son's discomfort, he knew he would only embarrass him.

Again they ate in silence, until the front door banged, announcing the arrival of a visitor.

Mark inwardly put his money on Dr. Amanda Bentley, because the fourth leaf of the clover, Dr. Jesse Travis seemed to be the only one who could accept that Mark was fine, and able to look after himself.

And he was right of course. Amanda came around the kitchen into the dining area, a bright smile on her beautiful dark face. "Hello-o, how is everybody?"

Mark received her with a light hug of his good arm. "Everybody is just fine."

Steve stood up to get a plate and a glass for their friend, and Amanda plopped down on a vacant chair. "Ah. Soup. Just what I need after that rotten day. That idiot Kincaid is going to drive me nuts. - Mark, don't tell me you cooked dinner yourself."

"Amanda," he said gently, "I won't learn to use this arm, if I don't use it."

"Well yes, I figure you are right there. But you won't overdo, would you?"

"Honey, I can walk, and I can breathe. I'm fine."

Amanda breathed a little sigh, and then gave his hand a light squeeze. "Okay."

Mark gave her a warm smile, and patted and rubbed her hand.

"Want to tell me how C.J. is doing at his piano lessons?"

Well, Amanda sure would, but not without prompting.

Actually the plan had been that Mark would see to the musical education of Amanda's boy. His godson.

Just like he had used to with his own children.

And Mark honestly enjoyed hearing about C.J's efforts. He had no hard feelings, or felt sadness at his new inability. Things were as they were. And he managed to transport his ease so well, that the atmosphere stayed relaxed all through dinner.

Until the door bell rang, and his home care nurse arrived.

Amanda said good bye, needing to hurry home now, and Steve excused himself to have to check his answering machine.

Mark watched them both flee, and breathed a little sigh_._

_"_They will get used to it." his nurse, Philippa, told him softly with an encouraging smile.

"Yes I know."

Together they went to Mark's bedroom, where Philippa helped him undress, taking the prosthesis off first.

"You've been wearing it all day again?" she asked, tugging the stump sock carefully down.

"Well, Steve just isn't comfortable with the stump."

"Steve was at work all day." she pointed out.

"I expected him to drop by and check on me."

"He better get used to it." Philippa said curtly, inspecting the red tissue around the scar. "The skin will start to break down in another few days, if you don't start being easy on it. Well, just think how quick your son will get used to the sight, if you can't put the arm on at all for a couple of weeks."

Mark sighed.

"Do I have to take your arm along, or can I rely on you that it will stay off until tomorrow?"

"Okay." Mark gave in. He held up two fingers to make it a word of honor, and made it obvious that he had no fingers for any secret signs.

Philippa nodded satisfied, and took off his slacks.

Undressed down to his boxer shorts Mark went into the bathroom, and sat down on a stool in front of the vanity, so that Philippa could wash him easily.

Done with that she prepared Mark's toothbrush, and left him alone to finish with what he could do by himself.

Meanwhile she put the dirty clothes in the laundry, and then went to help Mark put on his pajama and dressing gown, fastening the belt with a loop that could be undone with just one tug.

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Downstairs Steve was standing in his own shower, and banged his head against the wall a couple three times.

Chrissake! Why couldn't he just relax around his Dad?

And whom did he think could he fool by his evasive behavior?

He groaned, and turned off the warm water, leaving only the cold running.

He should be up there with his Dad now. Not some stranger. It had been the reason for him to move back in with his Dad, to be there for him and take care. And now that he did need care, Steve found himself acting like a total klutz.

But he felt so incredibly sorry for his Dad. He knew how much his work had meant to him, and he feared that once he finally realized that it was gone forever, it would come down really hard on him.

Rats.

He really had to get a grip on himself, and be sure to be there for his Dad, once reality would set in.

He shut the water off with a decisive flick of his hand, and toweled himself briskly down.

Dressed in fresh Blue Jeans and a shirt he went back upstairs. "Dad?"

"Kitchen."

Steve headed there, silently chiding himself for not having thought of cleaning the kitchen before going downstairs.

He found Mark putting the dishes one by one in the washer.

"Dad, you don't have to..."

He trailed off when he saw the secret little sigh his Dad heaved, and let out his breath.

"Come here Dad, let me give you a..."

This time he froze, when he realized what he was about to say, and to make matters worse, he found himself staring at the empty sleeve, tucked into the pocket of the dressing gown.

His ears started glowing brightly red.

Mark pretended to not notice, and cast his son a grateful smile instead. "That would be nice. Thank you Son." He washed his hand and kneaded it dry on the towel. "It's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed now."

He patted Steve's shoulder, and headed straight for his room.

"Good night Dad." Steve managed in a mixture of surprise and dismay, and felt like kicking his own butt for his incredible stupidity.

He cleaned up, then grabbed a Bud from the fridge, and went out to sit on the deck in the cool air of the falling night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: I would like to explain that a prosthetic hook is not like what you know from pirates. It is like a pair of strong, bent tweezers. The distal hook stays rigid in place, and the proximal hook can be moved (almost like a thumb,) to open or close the grip. That is achieved by a Bowden cable, that goes up the arm, and in Mark's case to the opposing shoulder. By moving that shoulder forwards, the cable gets pulled, and it opens the hook. Moving the shoulder back and taking the tension off the cable, closes the hook.

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** Super Human 2**

The clock radio went off playing Recondita Armonica, rendered so beautifully by Luciano Pavarotti.

Mark reached out to put the music out.

Funny. He felt his hand, as it searched blindly for the button. He felt how he moved his fingers.

Only when no feedback of touching anything came, his brain made the connection that there was no hand attached.

Mark rolled on his back, and reached up with his right hand instead.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, stretched with relish in the fresh air that came in through the open window, yawning completely unabashed.

Six o'clock.

Good.

That would give him enough time.

He stepped into his slippers, and headed for his bathroom.

So now. This shouldn't be all that hard.

He let the warm water run, and filled his beaker. Then he put the tip on his electrical toothbrush, using the charger as a stand.

Toothpaste.

Well, with no second hand available, he took the cap between his teeth, and twisted the tube to open it.

He squeezed a little blob of paste on his toothbrush, while it was still standing upright in the charger, then the cap went back on the same way it had come off.

That wasn't too hard, was it?

He picked up his toothbrush and began to brush.

He was having enough of being taken care of like a child. Ever since he had been in hospital, he had nurses to help him with his personal hygiene, and getting dressed.

But he felt it was about time now to take his life back in his own hands.

- Hand.

And brushing his teeth single-handedly certainly was easy enough.

To get the shaving foam into his face, he simply sprayed the estimated amount into the sink, and scooped it up from there to apply it.

He had used a straight razor all his life, and was well versed in turning it over in one hand. He only had to crane his neck a bit more to smooth out the skin.

The ability to take care of himself upped his mood from good to excellent, and he began to hum a merry tune while he freed his face of gray stubble.

Actually the only problem was to wash himself under his right arm, and apply deodorant there. He solved the first problem by putting a bath mitt over his stump, and bringing his shoulders closest possible together.

The amputation had been through the elbow, so he had the advantage of the whole length of his upper arm.

Only for the deodorant he found no solution. But he didn't let that get in the way of his great mood.

Feeling fresh and fortified, he went to get dressed.

He could have just simply put on a long-sleeved turtleneck jersey. But this was about learning to get along, so he chose a regular shirt instead.

He closed the button on the right cuff, and then used his teeth to pull it over his hand. And while he patiently buttoned up the rest, he thought how lucky he was to have done surgery, and legerdemain all his life. Nimble fingers like his were an exception at his age.

And it was his age that finally made him give up on the socks. He might have been able to somehow wriggle his feet into them, but sitting crouched for so long thwarted every plan in that direction.

So what? This is southern California.

He stepped into his worn moccasin slippers, and cast a proud look at his mirror image. "Not bad, old boy."

He experimentally folded up the left sleeve, but discarded that idea instantly again.

Although he was getting the impression that the empty sleeve was grossing his son out just the same.

But well, having the cuff pinned to his shoulder simply looked weird.

He let it drop again, but didn't tuck the cuff into his pocket this time.

Almost seven. Steve will come up in a couple of minutes.

Still humming he left his room, and went to the kitchen to get the coffee going.

That went without a hitch.

Then he got out a good-sized glass bowl, and cracked eggs into it.

Cracking eggs single-handedly was no problem, but the bowl always tipped when he hit the rim.

He tried laying the egg on a saucer, and cracking it with a flick of a knife. But eggs can be so elusive.

At least this time no egg fell down.

He went from humming to singing, as he skillfully whisked eggs, milk and flour into a batter.

"Dad, what are you..."

Mark turned around. "Good morning Son. Coffee will be ready in another moment."

Steve stood rooted by the entrance, checking his watch against the kitchen clock. "Why... - Was Philippa early?" he wondered. "Why didn't you tell..."

"Philippa wasn't here yet." Mark fell in, and couldn't quite keep his pride out of his voice. "I got ready by myself."

Steve's brains started tumbling. How the heck was that possible? How could anybody get a pair of pants up, and closed, and even got a shirt tucked into it, with only just one arm? And how did he...

"Pancakes?" Mark asked with a smile.

He had a pretty good idea of what was going on in his son's head. There are a couple of expressions that disabled people see on a frequent basis.

"Dad, you could have told me to come up earlier." Steve said, and moved to take the whisk from Mark's hand.

"No Steve." Mark said with gentle authority. "I have to know if I can get along on my own, before I give notice to Philippa."

"Give notice?" Steve flared up. "Dad! How do you think..."

"That is exactly what I'm testing here, Son. Take a seat. Have a cup of coffee."

Steve let out his breath, and did as he was told.

He sat down on a stool by the island, and watched his Dad from behind.

How terribly awkward everything seemed to be for him. His Dad has been an avid cook, and a great multi tasker in the kitchen. When he used to make pancakes it was batter in with one hand, and done pancakes out of the pan with the other.

Now his progress was so painfully slow. He always had to put down one tool to use the other, or maybe even just shake the skillet.

He would have liked to go out and grant his Dad some privacy. But since his Dad had invited him to sit here, he felt he couldn't really do that.

And he was really set on doing things right now, especially after hurting his Dad's feelings so badly last night.

What was he thinking, to stare at the empty sleeve?

It wasn't the first time that he had seen his Dad without the prosthetic arm.

The doorbell rang, and Steve jumped up, maybe a tad too fast.

Mark pursed his lips over an indulgent smile, and scooped another pancake out.

"Well well well," Philippa came into the kitchen, her hands on her hips. "This looks like I'm gonna be out of a job soon."

Mark turned, grinning proudly, his lower lip between his teeth to add a little sheepishness.

"Fantastic!" Philippa was full of praise. "Shave, buttons, belt, - the whole nine yards!"

Mark wagged his head, and tugged up one leg of his slacks, sticking out his foot to show his bare ankle. "Afraid not completely."

She made a dismissive gesture. "No problem. We gonna get you a sock aid. Now that you are up and about, it's about time anyway to see what aids you need. Ask James when you see him later. Or your orthotist. You should take notes of all the difficulties that come up during your day, and then take the notes to any expert, and find a solution."

"I'll do that." Mark said, and picked his watch from his pocket, handing it Philippa to put it around his wrist.

They had breakfast together, now that Philippa had some time to spare, and afterwards went to Mark's bedroom, where she gave him a vibration massage on his back, to keep his lungs free and unobstructed, and took care of his stump.

She applied a salve with great care, rubbing gently, until the skin was almost dry again, and then selected two socks of the proper thickness, to make up for what the stump had lost of its volume.

Last she helped him to put the prosthesis on, and admonished him to not wear it all day again.

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"How can I help you?"

Steve was standing in the corner of the salesroom of a medical supply shop, trying to blend into his surroundings. He felt like he was intruding inexcusably on the private sphere of the young man, who stood with the leg of his Jeans up to his knee, and complained about too much of a spring in his artificial foot.

And now that he got addressed he felt like caught, and knew that his ears were giving his embarrassment away.

He cleared his throat, and opened his wallet. "Uhm, I'd like to pick up these."

The clerk took the slip of paper. "Yes sure. If you want to take a seat in the waiting area please? It will take a few minutes."

Steve nodded and turned towards the indicated doorway.

He hesitated before he entered. Last time he had been here, there was a little boy in a wheelchair, who had obviously just lost his leg, and was inconsoleable.

Steve had been absolutely heartbroken, and found himself thinking that maybe after all he was lucky that he doesn't have children.

And he was relieved to see that this time there was only one girl, sitting next to the entrance, with a bright blue cast on her left arm.

Feeling more confident, he entered with a friendly 'hello'.

The girl looked up, brushing a strand of fair hair behind her ear, and instead of returning the greeting, she sat up a bit more straight, and followed him with such obvious admiration in her gaze, that Steve had to smile.

She was a delicate little thing, filling only maybe half of the red vinyl chair, and her feet didn't quite touch the floor.

She had lowered her head again, to go on leafing through the magazine she held on her knees, but still, Steve could see a light hue of pink on her ivory cheeks.

He leaned back in his chair and put his ankle up on his knee, for some extra masculinity, in case she would look up again.

And while he tried to guess the girl's age, he found himself relax for what must be the first time after four months of constant worries.

First the fear for his Dad's life, then the fight with Jesse. Jesse's long absence, and his Dad's chest infection. All he had wished for was that Mark should wake up again. If only he pulled through, the rest would find itself.

But that hadn't happened. Nothing seemed to be in any right place anymore.

His Dad had felt so uneasy as a patient in his own hospital, and he could very well understand that. So he had taken his Dad home.

He had needed constant attention and monitoring, because the chest infection had let his lungs fill up with water, which had caused many choking fits, and made constantly available oxygen a necessity.

They had to have a hospital bed at home, and Philippa was the remaining nurse of a team of three, who had looked after him in shifts.

Steve had called in all the vacation days he had accumulated, and stayed home with his Dad, spending the nights next to him on the couch, despite the medical personnel they had, and so often had to jump up and put the oxygen mask over Mark's face, when his body started to heave convulsively in suffocation.

But attritional as those days had been, the real harrow began when his Dad had started to feel better, and began to pass his time.

Every day it became more apparent that his Dad was disabled now.

Steve laid his hand involuntarily on his stomach, as he felt it tie up in a knot.

Disability had always meant 'them'. Disability was a terribly sad thing he had only seen from afar.

And now disability was all over his life.

Steve himself had been at least temporarily disabled a couple of times over the years. Had to use a wheelchair after particularly bad injuries. And he knew how awkward everything suddenly gets.

And with his Dad it wasn't temporarily. The arm was gone.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how it would be to give up a whole life. Everything that has been dear to one. His Dad would never be able to play the piano again, nor his beloved clarinet. Even just reading a book is difficult, to hold it in place and turn the pages with only just one hand.

And he couldn't play cards. Always one of their favorite pastimes when one of them was sick.

And when Steve had canceled their fishing trip a couple weeks ago, he had realized that his Dad will never be able again to reel in a fish.

Not to mention that he couldn't practice medicine anymore.

Nor tie his shoes.

Steve heaved a sigh. The list was endless, and grew longer every day.

And he knew that his Dad was terribly uneasy. He had hardly ever seen him without his prosthetic arm, ever since he got it. And if he had it off, he tried to conceal his missing arm with long sleeves.

On the other hand, his Dad was displaying so much confidence. He had never once heard a single complaint, when yet another thing had proven to be impossible now.

He had accepted his challenges with so much courage, that Steve thought his heart would burst with pride.

Yes, he knew that a lot of it was a show for him, to make him feel better.

But doesn't it take extraordinary strength, to be maimed so badly, and still put on a smile?

"Excuse me?"

Steve looked up.

The girl was trying to catch his attention, leaning a bit forwards, to maybe make sure her soft voice would carry all the way across the room.

"Would you please be so kind and pass me a cup of water?" she asked, pointing at the dispenser not even six feet away from her.

This was so apparently an attempt to start talking to him, that Steve had to smile.

"Why of course." he said, and crossed the room to the cooler.

She was watching him with bright eyes and such cute reverence, that it emboldened him to sit down next to her, crossing his legs in nonchalance.

"Had an accident?" he asked the obvious as he passed her the cup, indicating the bad abrasion on her chin.

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Have been going for years without a hitch, and the moment I go on a vacation..." She trailed off, and wriggled her arm with the cast on. "Weird, huh?"

Steve chuckled.

"You aren't from here?"

"Nope. Germany." she said, and peered into her cup, wrinkling up her nose.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Ya, no, not really. I just loath plain water."

Steve held his hand out with a smile. "You don't have to drink it. Let me pour it away."

"No thanks really. I have to keep myself hydrated." she said, and began to sip down the presumably repulsive beverage.

Steve watched her in amused puzzlement.

Though she was apparently attracted to him, there was nothing of the usual flirting he actually had expected. She hadn't turned towards him, hadn't crossed her legs, nor had she touched her hair, or whatever else women do to send out signals.

And a woman she was. Had she looked like barely out of her teens from a distance, he would now put her in her mid twenties. A bit to his relief.

"Can I invite you to a drink?" he offered.

She turned, and looked at him with big eyes over the rim of the paper cup.

"Umm," He held out his hand. "The name is Steve."

She took it, her eyes still wide and bright, and still sipping water.

Then she lowered the cup, wrinkling up her face in displeasure, and said: "Minnie. - Can I have another one, please?"

Steve took the cup with a smile, and a big crease of puzzlement on his forehead. "Certainly. But you really don't have to drink this if you don't like it. - Or, are you having plans already?"

"No." she hurried to assure him.

"Fine. There is a nice BBQ just a couple of blocks away." he said, and cast a look at his watch. He had left work early, and going by yesterday he figured his Dad would be fine, and was getting along without him. "We can go there as soon as we are out of here."

"Fine." she agreed, a pink hue of excitement on her cheeks.

Then she tapped her finger on the edge of the cup in his hand. "Can I?"

He rose with a chuckle. "Certainly."

As the cup filled slowly, a man entered the room, pushing a wheelchair. "I'm sorry. This is the best we can get out of this."

Minnie cast a pouting look at the chair, and heaved a sigh. "But look where the axle is. I can't tip it a single Inch that way. Especially not with this."

She motioned accusingly at her blue cast.

"I'm sorry. But if we move the axle any further, the chair will become unsteady."

Minnie gave him a pointed look. "That is exactly what I'm talking about. And what about the armrests? Can't you at least remove them?"

"I'm sorry. But you cannot use the chair without the side guards. You could get injured by the spokes."

Minnie heaved another deep sigh, and rolled her eyes in an eloquent way.

She angled the chair with a practiced motion, and slid into it, leaning on her arms.

Steve realized with a start that the chair had nothing to do with her accident.

She was paralyzed.

She lifted her legs by the knees to set her feet on the foot rests, and looked at Steve. "Are you terribly disappointed?"

"I.. No! - I..."

"Good." She gave him a placid smile. "I would hate to not go for a drink with you."

"Lt. Sloan?"

Steve turned around to the clerk. "Yes."

He excused himself with a nod towards Minnie, and followed the clerk to the counter, to pay for the compression socks.

His mind was awhirl of course.

He would have never had the brashness to flirt with a disabled girl. If you are in a wheelchair, he figured, you would have enough on your plate, and wouldn't want to serve as amusement for some guy. But Minnie really didn't seem to have taken any offense.

He saw her now wheeling up to his side, and cast her a smile that was supposed to convey that if she was still interested, his offer was still on, but at the same time, that he wouldn't press her.

She said nothing. Only watched him with quiet awe, and rosy cheeks.

When he gave his signature, she craned her neck to have a look, and then sat back again with a pleased smile.

Steve pocketed his wallet again and turned. "Ready to g..."

Chrissake!

Just in time he bit his tongue, and now it were his ears coloring up. And quite more than just rosy.

Minnie smiled, and held out her injured arm. "Yes, let's go."

He hesitated to take the hand. It was so small, and it was injured already. What if he hurt her with those big hands of his?

And wouldn't she need her hands...?

Or should he push her?

"It would be fine if you could drag me along a bit." Minnie explained in her easygoing way. "This idiot chair is a total chunk."

"Won't I hurt you?"

"Naww." She wrapped her fingers around what she could hold of his hand. "They put it in a cast so I can use it. Never worry."

He smiled, if maybe not completely convinced, and then took hold of her wrist, deeming it more safe to only hold her by the cast when he pulled her.

Minnie was pleased to find him so awesomely strong, that he could drag her along without her having to really pull her wheel. So she reached over with the unneeded hand, and tugged up the hem of his jacket, revealing the revolver on his belt.

"Are you a cop?" she wondered.

Steve squirmed a bit. This usually was the point when his potential dates say good bye.

"Erm, yes." he admitted, and stepped aside to let her through the door.

But Minnie remained standing where she was, and breathed a little, excited gasp. "With the LAPD?"

"Well, yes." he said, growing more relaxed by her undisguised awe, and definitely amused.

She gasped again, and wheeled through the door. "Wow. Just like in my novel?"

Steve chuckled. "Well, if it is a murder mystery."

He pointed towards the left side. "My car is right there."

"Good." Minnie replied, and zipped down the ramp, stopping next to a rickety Toyota. "Because I would hate to take you in this rattrap." She squinted up at him. "Can I follow you? I'm having the hardest time finding places in this total tall town."

"Sure." he said with a smile, and then headed for his own car, before his bad conscience showed.

Of course he wanted to offer her his help to get into the car. And he sure had no idea how that little person could get that wheelchair into the car.

But he knew enough about disabled people to know, that they didn't very much appreciate people constantly offering help for what they do on a frequent basis.

And though he hadn't expected her to drive, she obviously did so.

And so she would probably know best.

And he figured she didn't want a stranger standing by, watching her struggles to enter her car.

He reached his car, and despite his willingness to grant Minnie her privacy, he couldn't help himself and turned around.

Minnie had opened the back door of the car, and was now holding on tightly to the frame, and pulled herself painfully difficult to a stand.

One of her thin legs started shaking uncontrollably, and she pressed her hand on it above the knee, to make it stop.

It took her a moment to find her balance, and with one hand still holding on tightly to the car, she struggled to fold the chair with the other.

Steve only hesitated for a second. But this clearly was not easy for Minnie in any way, and he had no intention to let her lift the heavy chair in herself. Whether she would mind that he had watched her, or not.

He started back towards the old Toyota, and inhaled to call out for her to put the wheelchair back down.

That was when the chair slipped from her hands, and she sank to the black topped ground, hitting her head hard.

"Minnie!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Super Human 3**

Steve darted across the parking lot, and crouched by Minnie's side, lifting her head carefully in his lap.

"Minnie, what is it? Can you hear me?"

He couldn't bring himself to slapping her cheek, to get her to react. Instead he cupped her pale face in his big, tanned hand, and caressed her cheek gently with his thumb. "Minnie?"

She stirred a bit in his arms, but her eyelids only fluttered.

"Don't worry, Minnie. Everything is gonna be fine."

He kept caressing her cheek while he picked his mobile from his pocket with the other hand.

Minnie opened her eyes, swallowed, and tried to figure out what she was doing lying on the street.

Or rather in the lap of awesome Lt. Steve.

Not that she would mind.

Oh. She had been about to put the idiot chair into the trunk.

"Ewwww." She made a face. "I told you that I have to keep myself hydrated."

"Shh." he made softly, brushing down her hair. "You don't have to talk. Everything's gonna be fine. I'm gonna take you to the hospital."

"What? - No!" she squawked, and started flicking her hand at the mobile phone, as if it was an annoying mosquito. "No hospital. Really!"

As not to aggravate her any more he put the phone back into his pocket, but nevertheless tried to reason.

"Minnie, you hit your head. We have to make sure you haven't got a fracture. And we have to find out why you fainted."

She made a dismissive gesture. "My head is a piece of brick." She tentatively felt around the back of her head, and winced involuntarily when she touched a growing swelling. "And I fainted because I stand up so rarely, that I simply forgot how easily I keel over in heat without enough drink."

She sighed, and closed her eyes with a slightly pained expression.

"You hurt, Minnie. Why don't you want me to call an ambulance?"

"I don't have the money." she admitted with another sigh.

"That can be helped." Steve said, and reached for his phone again.

Minnie laid her hand firmly on his arm, and opened her eyes to look him squarely in the eye. "I don't have the money, as in: 'big time'."

She took hold of his arm, and tried to sit up.

Knowing that he was losing this one, Steve scooped her into his arms, and set her into the drivers seat of the car.

"Now tell me." He squatted by her side. "Don't you have health insurance?"

"Well, I sure have." She pressed the heel of her hand against the base of her nose. "The stupid thing is that I have to pay in advance in your weird system. I broke my chair in the accident yesterday, and now I'm swamped with costs. I have to pay for this crappy loaner chair, I have to pay for the repair of my chair, and I have to stay longer here than planned, which leads to cancellation fees for my ticket, costs for a new ticket, and who knows what else." She secretly brushed a tear from her cheek. "I don't know when I can travel back, because my chair is German, and the shop has to order parts, and..."

She trailed off, because she didn't trust her voice.

"And?" Steve encouraged her to go on.

She shook her head, and sniffled. "There are way too many ands."

Steve rose to his feet and walked around the car, to give her time to calm down again.

He didn't want to appear like he was waiting, so he picked up the wheelchair, and put it into the trunk.

There was one carryall of a good size, and one rucksack. A blanket lay neatly folded in the backseat, a novel with a bookmark, a cushion roll, and a towel was spread over the backrest of the passenger seat.

He returned to the drivers side. "You don't want to tell me you are living in your car."

Minnie gave him a self-defensive look. "I can't get anywhere without a car. And I just can't afford both, lodging and driving. I'm really totally completely out of money. And I have no idea for how long I will have to stay here."

"How much money are we talking about here?"

"Oh no." she gave back as a stern reply. "You don't want to even think of lending me money. I'm gonna be a bottomless pit for years to come. I'm living on social support. Can you imagine how long it will take me to return even only just hundred bucks?"

She seemed to have more to say, but instead she began to gesture feebly with her hands, apparently trying to make the words come out, and then suddenly pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, squeezing them shut, and letting out a pitiful whine.

That does it.

Steve had made up his mind to take her home with him some minutes back, and had only tried to find a way to sell the decision to her. It seemed she was a proud little thing, and wouldn't accept gifts, or invitations for free lodging easily.

But the time for negotiations had passed now.

He scooped her out of her car, and carried her towards his. "I'm gonna take you to my Dad." he informed her. "He is a doctor."

Again she whined, and squirmed in his arms.

"Shh. You are ill. And don't worry, no charges."

This time it was Minnie who knew she was losing this battle.

She breathed a little sigh, and snuggled her hurting head against Steve's strong shoulder.

Steve felt good. This was a problem he could handle. Here was a damsel in a distress, and he knew what to do. This was nothing like standing by in total impotence and see his Dad suffer.

His Dad.

He smiled. He hadn't spent a single thought on him during this episode.

They reached his car, and the realization that he didn't know how to get his keys from his pocket, rained a bit on the parade of his good feelings.

He couldn't put her down. - Or could he? Should he ask if she was able to stand for a second? Or would that be hurtful for her...

Minnie slipped her hand through between them, and into the pocket of his jacket. "Can I find it here somewhere?"

"Ah, in the pocket of my pants."

He held her a bit away from his body, to give her room to get her hand there.

"Ta-daa." she made triumphantly, presenting him the bunch of keys.

Her voice was still thin, and barely audible, but she seemed to be recovering.

She aimed the key fob at the car, and then reached down to open the door.

"You know," she said, "You could have set me onto the bonnet."

Steve nodded, but inwardly he was aghast. The hood of his car was of course rounded at the edges, and sloping. And his mind supplied him with half a dozen images of ways Minnie could fall off.

He set her into the passenger seat, buckled her in with the belt, and then hesitated again. What should he do with her legs? One foot was caught behind the other. But wouldn't it be terrible for her to have a stranger sort her useless legs? And it would make it obvious that he - well, was thinking about them.

Minnie slid her hands between the seat and her calves, and with a tough flick of her fingers she made her legs spring forwards, and then fall back neatly side by side.

"See? Nothing to it. It's all easy."

Actually Steve had expected his ears to advertise his embarrassment, since he obviously had been caught. But Minnie had been so gentle, and cute about it, that he just didn't feel caught, and found himself chuckling softly.

"Okay."

He drove his car up to the Toyota, moved her belongings into his trunk, the chair behind her seat, and then headed home.

He wondered if he should say something about his Dad's disability.

But wouldn't it hurt her if he thought that a disability is something one has to warn about?

And what should he say anyway?

'Don't get a fright, my Dad has only one arm.'? Or maybe: 'My Dad has only one arm. Please don't let that upset you.'?

He sighed.

Well, she seemed mostly asleep anyway.

He turned his head to look at her, and smiled. She was hardly any taller than a twelve year old child, and the overall impression of her was delicate. Maybe mostly so because he himself is six foot two. But upon closer examination...

Her hands were small, but certainly looked strong. And she wore a sleeveless little blouse, that afforded a good sight of her defined delts.

Well, being in a wheelchair certainly trains the arms. He knew that from his own experience.

He heaved another sigh. What a shame that she was in a wheelchair.

It seemed such a waste.

Such a pretty little thing.

He sighed, and scratched his forehead with the back of his thumb.

He would have loved to ask her out on a date.

When he cut the ignition, back home in their yard, Minnie opened her eyes.

"Well, here we are." he said with a smile, and went around the car to scoop her up into his arms.

Minnie looked around the yard, and with interest up the gatehouse.

She seemed to be impressed by what she saw, although Steve of course knew that the gatehouse was nothing much really.

He carried her through, and started up the stairs.

In his arms Minnie gasped, and her hand flew up to her mouth when she saw the main house towering over the lush green court yard.

"Wow!" she breathed. "Look, you have your own fir tree!"

Steve chuckled. "Well, yes."

"And a pond!" she whispered excited.

"Ya-a." he confirmed, ending on an amused upstroke.

"Wow." she breathed again, and leaned back against his shoulder.

The front door was unlocked during daytime, and Steve could easily twist the knob with her in his arms.

He kicked the door back shut with a bang, and headed up the stair to the livingroom. "Dad?"

Minnie snickered.

"Hm?"

"Nothing really." she said. "It just sounded a bit like you would say 'Look what I found!' I hope your father doesn't mind you bringing home foundlings."

Steve chuckled. "Naww. It's usually him who brings them home."

As they were advancing into the spacey room, they found Mark sitting on the couch, hunched over his knees. "Hello Son. You're early."

When they came around the couch they saw that Mark had a shoe between his knees, stuffed with a couple of socks, and was carefully trying to lace it, between his good hand and his hook.

"Oh," Minnie made enlightened. "You are the broken goods."

Mark looked up with an amused smile, peering over the reading glasses, riding low on his big nose. "Yeah?"

"I was so wondering." Minnie elaborated brightly. "Steve had bought stump socks, and he is so obviously in handsome good shape."

"Yes he is." Mark confirmed amused. "Yes, I lost my arm about half a year ago."

"Oh!" Minnie made again, this time a more sympathetic note to it, and obviously addressing Steve. She laid her hand on his chest, and rubbed a little circle for comfort. "So you are still adjusting."

Mark tried to keep his chuckle inside, but then his look grew more earnest. "Is something wrong?"

"Dad, she fell and hit her head on the tarmac."

Mark stayed put. "Why didn't you take her to the hospital?"

Steve realized his new blunder, and began to apologize. "Dad, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Now don't you worry." Mark said gently. "I just think we should have an X-Ray. Go and get my bag please."

Steve set Minnie down on the couch, and retraced the way he had come in.

Mark set his shoe on the coffee table, and gave Minnie a little wink. "Yes, he still tries to adjust."

He reached out, and turned her chin up a bit. "This abrasion is at least a day old."

"Ah, ya." she confirmed. "Accident yesterday, keel-over today. You must think I'm a terrible klutz."

Mark chuckled, but his face remained quite serious as he tugged down her lower eyelids, and tweaked up a bit of skin on the back of her hand. And it grew even more serious when the skin didn't snap back.

"You are pretty dehydrated." he said, and looked her slight frame down with worry.

His eyes caught on her legs, and he gave one thigh a squeeze. "Paraplegia?"

"Yeah."

"You fell?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I broke my chair yesterday, and now I have a totally embarrassing chunk of a chair, that doesn't fit into the passenger seat of my car. I have to put it in the trunk, and then waddle around the car to my seat. Paraplegia is progressive, and I'm still incomplete."

Mark nodded. "How long?"

"Uh, something like six years. The wheelchair that is. I had trouble walking quite some time before."

Steve had returned with a black doctors bag, set it on the table, and opened the closure.

"Steve, you can help her lie down." Mark said, and got the blood pressure gauge out, making room for his son to move.

Steve scooped Minnie up again, and laid her with great care on a pile of throw pillows in the corner seat.

Mark sat down on the edge to face her, and tried to get into a position where he could keep his hook closed and holding the cuff of the gauge down.

He wriggled his shoulders, but couldn't reach out without putting tension on the cable.

Minnie pushed the hook gently back, and took hold of the cuff with an encouraging smile, holding it to her arm so that Mark could easily wrap it around with his good hand.

She watched him plug the stethoscope into his ears, and took hold of the lower end and slipped the diaphragm in place in her elbow.

Mark cast her a smile, and pumped the cuff up.

"Sixty over forty." he said, his voice a worried burr.

Minnie made a dismissive gesture. "I'm always kind of low on blood pressure. As well as on iron." she added, indicating the eyelid Mark had tugged down to check.

He nodded, and ran his finger along her too wide waistband. "As well as on weight?"

"Erm, ya well, I may have lost a pound or so. Things have been kind of stressful lately."

Mark left it at that, even though the pants spoke of more than just a pound, and began rooting through his bag. "Any other conditions I should know of?" he asked. "Allergies?"

Minnie shook her head. "Nope. I'm all fine."

Mark dipped his chin, and gave her a look over the rims of his glasses again. "Funny idea of fine."

He wedged a small ampoule into his hook, so that it was facing down towards his wrist, and skillfully filled a syringe.

"This will get your blood pressure up again." he said, and laid Minnie's arm in his lap for the injection.

"Now tell me: how come you didn't go to the hospital."

"Uh, no money."

"That can be helped." Mark said. "I'm gonna schedule you for a scan tomorrow."

"No please really!" Minnie pleaded. "I already had to choose yesterday between arm- and back scan. I really don't have the money."

"I said that can be helped." Mark said unperturbed, and wriggled his hand for Steve's cell phone.

Minnie began to sob, feeling that things were going into a wrong direction. "No it can't. Really. I won't be able to pay any money back for years, and then you gonna start loathing me because of my bad payment behavior and..."

She trailed off when she realized she was about to give away that she hoped they maybe could stay friends, because she felt so wonderful in these two men's company, and felt color creep into her cheeks.

She entrenched behind one of the cushions, peeping at them over the fringe.

Mark chuckled, and handed her his hankie. "Nobody will loath you, Honey." He brushed down her hair. "Okay?"

She sighed, and for a second leaned into the comforting touch of the warm hand. "Okay."

The handkerchief was a neatly pressed piece of white fabric, and Minnie only dabbed it carefully at her eyes, staying well away from her nose, for fear she would get it dirty with snot. Then she laid it carefully, still folded as it was, next to her on the couch.

Mark pried the cell phone open, and called the hospital.

Minnie watched with awe. The man seemed to be in his sixties, had white hair and a white moustache, which was clipped up at the edges into a permanent smile, which seemed to be the customary expression anyway, making him a friendly uncle doctor. But now that he spoke to his colleagues, he practically exuded authority. Though still in a friendly way.

"Steve," he said, and closed the phone against his stomach, "you can take her tomorrow, fifteen minutes past two. And now," he added, "you bring something to drink for our guest."

"Oh yes." Steve recalled that that had been the original idea, and also recalled the difficulties. "Afraid we don't have sparkling water."

Minnie waved dismissively. "No problem. I'm not good with water anyway. There is only one brand I can abide."

Steve nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"Well then, what about sodas? Or maybe ice tea, or juice?"

"Really. Soda is totally fine with me. I'm very unproblematic."

"Afraid we only have Diet Coke right now." Mark put in.

"Fine. Diet Coke is just fine." Minnie assured them, not willing to be any more hassle than she already was.

Steve went to get it from the kitchen.

"So," Mark turned to shift his attention back to Minnie. "where did you hurt your head?"

She pointed at the back of her head. "Seems I fell like a stone."

He nodded, and carefully palpitated the tender swelling. "Headache, nausea, or double vision?"

"Ya well, headache." she admitted. "And I'm slightly afraid you might gonna use your little light thingie."

"Afraid I have to." he confirmed, and shone his penlight into her eyes, at which she squirmed a bit.

"You certainly have at least a mild concussion." he judged, and put the light away. "I don't think that the skull is fractured, but that will have to wait until tomorrow."

"If you have to feel and squeeze around my skull, we can do that together." Minnie offered, and put her fingertips against the side of her head.

Mark smiled, and put his hand against the other side. Minnie just mirrored what he was doing, providing firm counter pressure.

"I already thought of returning to work." Mark told her softly. "And you sure make it seem a lot easier than I thought."

The tray nearly slipped from Steve's hands, and came down on the table with a clatter. "You want what?"

"Go back to work. I'm still head of internal." he said gently. "And I don't see why that should change."

He had to chuckle when he saw that his patient was looking at him with her eyes wide in admiration, and her pale cheeks now radiant, glowing with pink spots of awe.

"You are the boss doctor?" she whispered, breathlessly reverential.

It made Steve smile too. He felt himself relax a bit, and found himself able to address the matter with a bit more than just exasperated stutters.

"Dad, how could you go back to work?"

Mark thought for a second. But this seemed to be a good moment, so he broke some more news. "In my new car, Son. I already made some enquiries today."

Steve felt like somebody was pulling the rug from under him. His Dad wanted to drive again?

Of course, theoretically he was aware that disabled people can drive. But in his mind that were paraplegic people like Minnie. His Dad has only just one arm! How was he supposed to safely steer a car?

Minnie saw the helpless agony on Steve's face, in all his stance, and tentatively reached for his hand.

"Was it a car wreck?" she asked softly.

Steve looked down. The usually upturned corners of his mouth were drawn down, his lips were compressed, and his jaw muscles bunched.

But his hand that held Minnie's was carefully relaxed, and his thumb drew little circles on the back of hers.

She looked up at him with those big, lenient brown eyes of hers, and her gentle, soft voice was like oil on the troubled waters of his mind.

"You don't have to worry." she said. "Cars can be adjusted to every physical disability. Except blindness. But missing limbs, or," She tweaked her thigh, "sleepy limbs, are no problem at all. A car can even be rigged to run if the driver has no limbs at all. One arm gone is no problem. Really. There are ways to arrange everything so, that the hand never has to leave the steering wheel. And to steer safely, your father will get a knob on his wheel." She shifted her hand to give his an encouraging squeeze. "It's just a different way of doing it. But your father will get used to it, and he will be just as safe as if he would steer with both hands."

Steve sighed. And with the escaping air he seemed to deflate, and his head sank down again.

His Dad hadn't been safe. He had been steering with both hands, and still couldn't avoid the crash.

His Dad had almost died in his car.

And he hadn't been there to help him.

Minnie sought his eyes. "I know it will be terribly hard to let him drive again. But it is so important for us gimps to get around independently. We have to ask for help often enough. And if we have to ask for rides, it can lead to pretty much a depression."

Steve sucked his lips, making his big chin jut out even more, and nodded his head. "Okay. I can see that."

Mark smiled. He hadn't seen his son so calm in too long a time.

Steve sat down on the short side of the couch, and picked up the can to pour Minnie her Coke.

She was obviously trying to hide some disgust, but her nose wrinkled up ever so slightly anyway.

"Hm?" he made, his amusement triggered again.

"Ah, uh, nothing. Really." she mumbled embarrassed.

Steve tucked his chin back, and inclined his head in a prompting way.

"Uh, never mind me, really." She took the can from his hand. "Cans just make a terrible lot of trash, don't they? - And one can taste the can maybe a leetle bit. But really. Just don't pay any attention to me. I'm really fine with this." She handed Mark the can. "Here. Do you want to open this?"

Mark tee-hee-ed merrily, and wedged the can between his hook.

Steve had pretty much done everything for him lately. And it felt good to be entrusted with a hand task for a change.

Even though Steve couldn't keep the unease completely out of his face, as Mark tried to find the proper position to keep the can in a good grip.

"If you press it against your body," Minnie said, "it will be a lot easier on your shoulder. And the hook can't open."

Mark did so, and was pleased how easy that was.

But then he handed Steve the can back, so that he could pour it for Minnie.

"Are you working in orthotics?" he asked her.

Minnie shook her head as she drank.

"But you aren't a nurse either."

She gave him a squinty smile, with her nose wrinkled up pretty cute. "Wrong terminology, huh?"

Mark chuckled, giving a tiny shrug of his shoulder. "Maybe a leetle bit." he repeated her earlier comment.

"Ya, I don't have a job." she said, and took some more sips of her Coke. "Although I did do a practical as a nurse, and one in orthotics. But I'm a stay-at-home single-mommy."

Steve choked on his ice tea. "You have a kid? And raise it alone?"

"Well yeah I have to." she said like she was stating the most obvious. "You wouldn't want me to be together with an idiot like my husband was, or would you?"

Her way of reasoning made him chuckle like so often this day, and he reached out to give her hand a little squeeze. "No. Of course not."

Minnie seemed utterly pleased, and watched his hand holding hers with pink cheeks.

Mark leaned back with a smile. "So you are a mommy. One child, or more?"

"More." she replied brightly. "Two. Mette, my daughter, and Jonte, my son. Sixteen and thirteen years old."

Steve choked again.

"Ya I know." Minnie rolled her eyes. "People keep thinking that I'm my children's sister. And not necessarily the elder."

Mark chuckled, and could very well imagine that that was no exaggeration at all.

"Those are beautiful names." he said. "Though I can't say I have ever heard them before."

She shrugged. "Probably not. They are Frisian. From the part of Germany where I live."

Mark's brows went up. "You don't live here?"

"Nope. Just arrived for my first vacation in fifteen years, and already managed to turn it into a disaster." she added sadly.

Mark reached out and patted her knee. "Honey, why don't you tell me the whole story now, and let me see what can be done about it."

Minnie sighed. It sure wasn't easy to resist that man's fatherliness. How wonderful would it be to just crawl under his wings, tuck up in a ball, and wait until the storm was over.

But she really couldn't dump her problems on his plate. Especially not since it seemed to be well filled already.

Mark patted again. "At least tell me about the accident. What happened?"

She took another sip of Coke, and surrendered with a sigh. "Well, I went down a ramp, ground my front wheel into a crack, and went flying."

She wagged her hand with the cast, and indicated her chin. "Maybe I should call myself lucky that I still have all my teeth."

When she didn't go on, Mark asked: "I hear Germany has free health care. Won't you at least get reimbursed for your expenses?"

Minnie sighed, and kept looking down in her glass.

Mark didn't press her. Instead he thought he should take advantage of the situation, and asked: "Say, would you mind if I take my prosthesis off? Afraid I have orders to not wear it all day."

"Sure not." Minnie said, though she had a hunch this was more directed at Steve.

Whom she had no plans of having a word in this. "Can I give you a hand?"

"No thanks I start getting the hang of it." Mark replied, and shrugged out of the harness.

Minnie practically felt Steve tensing up by her side, even though there was half an arms length of space between them.

Mark pulled the mechanical device down, and laid it on the couch behind him.

Minnie waited a moment, and when Mark made no move to do something about his sleeve, she patted her thigh in a prompting way, and gave her hand a flick.

Reading her signs correctly, Mark leaned a bit forwards, so that she could roll up the empty sleeve.

He too pretended to take no notice of Steve's fidgeting.

Minnie rolled the sleeve up over the elbow, and slipped her hand in under it to remove the white sock.

"Your stump needs air." she said matter-of-factly.

And to not let any awkward pause develop, she continued: "Yeah. Germany has free health care. It is here that I have to pay in advance. But the actual problem is my chair. The front wheel has really made a terrible noise, and it has at least a broken ball bearing. Probably more. I might need a new chair altogether. And my health insurance already informed me that they will not going to pay for anything, neither repair, nor a new chair, because the crappy ramp was the shop's business, and that is that for them." She sipped her Coke. "Now I have spent most of my money on the treatment yesterday, and have no idea how I can manage to stay here to wait for my chair. And going home is no option either. Ya, well, I might get my sister to rent a chair for me in Germany and bring it to the airport. But again, the insurance company won't pay for it and..." She looked down and sniffled. "It's a terrible hassle."

"Well Honey," Mark said gently, "it seems to me that your health insurance is right. The shop is liable."

Minnie looked up, and a big tear was running down her cheek. "Really. I have no idea where that shop is. I was just cruising through the city, and saw that cute blouse in the display and stopped."

Steve handed her the hankie again, and flipped his cell phone open. "Do you know which hospital you have been taken to?"

Minnie shook her head.

"Sloan." he said into the device, his elbow sticking far out in a determined way. "Find out about an accident yesterday. The name is..." He cast Minnie a prompting glance.

"Oh. Minken Doorn. M-I-N-K-E-N D-O-O-R-N." she spelled helpfully.

"Minken Doorn." Steve passed on, and repeated the spelling. "A wheelchair front wheel caught in a crack on a ramp. - No I don't know where it happened. That's your job. Call me when you know more."

And without any hint that the call was nearing its end he snapped the phone shut, and stuck it back into his pocket.

"Don't worry. Finding that out will be a walk in the park."

Minnie felt him tensing up again, for his supposedly inexcusable blunder of mentioning a walk. So she made no attempt to hide or disguise any of the awe she felt, and just breathed a little "Wow."

Steve relaxed again, and gave her hand a little squeeze. "It's my job. I know how to find out."

"Wow."

Steve chuckled.

His mobile trilled in his pocket, and he dug it out again, along with a little notebook.

He noted down all the information he got, and Minnie leaned over again to watch him write.

He is left handed, and still has such a beautiful handwriting she thought amazed.

Wow. Beautiful handwriting, beautiful hands, and beautiful man.

Wasn't it just totally amazing that he had actually taken notice of her?

Well, of course she had expected him to bring her a cup of water. But never that he would actually start talking to her. And sure not so pleasantly.

She breathed a little sigh, and leaned back into the cushions, closing her eyes.

Steve managed to sit there for about five minutes. Then he rose to his feet and said softly: "I'm going to bring her wheelchair in."

Minnie opened her eyes. "No need. Really. I'll have to go sometime soon anyway. It's getting late."

Steve gave her a pointed look. "You don't think I will let you sleep in your car, do you?"

"But I..."

Steve wouldn't listen. "Dad has a nice guestroom." he stated, and went out.

"Of course you will stay with us." Mark burred gently, and patted her leg.

"But I can't butt in here on your family life." she insisted.

He took her hand in his and rubbed it gently with his thumb. "Steve is my only family, and you have seen what kind of life it is right now. Please, do stay. I have a feeling it will do us some good."

"Wow." she whispered. "You think really?"

"I do."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:**

Mark's amputation has been through the elbow, meaning that the humerus, the bone in the upper arm is still intact, as well as the muscles. Usually an exarticulation, (an amputation through a joint) leaves the amputee with less phantom pain, than an amputation through a bone.

What also works in Mark's favor is, that the higher the amputation, the harder it is to operate a prosthetic arm. So, at about half up the upper arm, prosthetics start become less and less useful, and often have just cosmetic value. Also the acceptance of the prosthetic decreases with the hight of the amputation.

The stump socks Steve bought are - well, socks for the stump. They are of an elastic material of varying thickness, and made to fit snugly around the stump. They provide pressure, help to keep the residual limb in shape, and take up perspiration.

The phantom sensations Mark is experiencing are different from phantom pain.

While phantom pain makes the missing limb hurt, the sensation is just the impression that the limb is there. The brain needs a lot of time to get adjusted to the absence of a limb. That is why Mark can still feel how he moves his fingers.

Minnie has incomplete paraplegia.

If the spinal cord was only injured, and not severed, some signals can still get through to the lower extremities.

There is a wide range from just being able to feel ones legs, to actually walking with only little difficulties.

Minnie's case is so, that has little feeling in her legs, and that she can only get up with great difficulties, and then shuffle a couple of steps, as long as she has support, or something to hold on to.

Her spine is instable, which lets her paralysis slowly progress.

The reason why Mark could diagnose the paraplegia only by sight is, because from disuse the muscles in Minnie's thighs are atrophied, which means they have degenerated.

Paraplegic thighs have a very characteristic appearance.

The reason why Minnie is so unhappy about her loaner chair is, that her own chair was rigid, and made to fit her. The chair she got from the medical supply shop is a folding chair, like those everybody knows from any hospital.

Rigid chairs are easier to steer.

They are shorter than folding chairs, which makes them quick to spin around ones own axis.

Armrests are a nuisance on a wheelchair, and only make the wheels harder to reach.

Also, the axles are too far back on the loaner chair. Ideally the axle should be exactly under the tailbone of the user of the chair. Like that it responds easily, and can easily tipped back to stand only on the hind wheels. That is necessary to be able to get over obstacles like thresholds, or maybe even curbs.

To get a rigid wheelchair into the car, the backrest can be folded down. The tall wheels are removed, and then the frame of the chair can be pulled across one's lap, and be put into the passenger seat.

People who have no use of their legs drive hand controlled cars. It needs automatic transmission, and a lever is attached to accelerator and brakes. While one steers safely with just the left hand, with a knob attached to the steering wheel, the right hand pulls the lever down to accelerate, or pushes it up to brake. There also usually is a remote control for lights, blinker, and what else is needed, so that the steering hand doesn't have to leave the wheel.

If You have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them.

* * *

**Super Human 4**

Minnie was slowly waking up again. Her headache wasn't any better, and her back started hurting from lying on it for too long.

Well, that had to be expected. She had spent the last night in her car seat, and she couldn't say that the motel bed had been anywhere near back-friendly.

She opened her eyes, and winced involuntarily at the piercing brightness of the light.

Mark was still sitting by her side, and leaned over to look at her with a concerned smile. "Hi there. The head still hurting?"

She squeezed her eyes shut with the heels of her hands, and nodded. "M-hm."

She heard him rummage in his bag.

"Here, you should take this."

Minnie opened her eyes again, blinking them a couple of times to make the haze clear up.

Mark was holding out a pill in his palm, patiently waiting while she tried to focus.

She pressed herself up to sit, and was so obviously moving clumsily, that Mark's stump automatically came forwards to help her up. His brain had actually sent his hand to reach out, but since it wasn't there anymore, nothing was accomplished.

By the time he had put the pill on the table, Minnie was already sitting.

"Ewww, you really must think I'm totally klutzy." she muttered, displeased by her lack of legerity.

Mark chuckled softly, and handed her the Coke, to flush the pill down.

"Your hand still there?" she asked, pointing her chin at the stump.

"Yes." Mark replied. "It's the strangest feeling." He looked at where his hand would be if he held it up between them. "I can feel how I move my fingers, or turn my hand over."

The muscles on his upper arm twitched, as his brain moved the non-existing hand.

"But I am lucky. I only have these phantom sensations, and no phantom pain at all."

"Ya it's good that you had an exarticulation." she said. "I think it helps when the bone and muscle don't have to be cut, or put back in weird places."

"That is true."

"Only too bad you have no elbow action."

Mark made a dismissive gesture. "I still feel lucky. I had been trapped in my car for a long time , and a lot of tissue had started to degenerate. I don't think I would have taken the chances. If I had done the surgery, I would have made a clean cut in mid-humerus."

"Eww. That can be weird for the prosthetic."

"Right. See? My shoulder is not encased in this, and I have a good tool to work with. I'm lucky."

"But Steve doesn't think so."

Mark sighed. "No. He doesn't."

Minnie looked at the spot by her side, where the handsome man had sat earlier.

"Is he already gone?" she asked, and felt embarrassed little spots of color creep into her cheeks, because she knew her disappointment had been very notedly in her voice.

As well as in her eyes.

"Gone where to?" Mark wondered, gently amused.

"Well, his home?" she peeped meekly.

"No Honey. Steve lives here. Don't worry." He patted her arm. "He just dragged out the grill, and is cooking steaks for dinner, outside on the deck."

"Wow," she breathed, awed again. "you have a deck?"

Mark tee-hee-ed merrily. "Well, yes."

He indicated that Minnie just had to turn around, which she did with a little difficulty.

It was dark outside. But Steve could be seen by the shine of the light, as he stood leaning against a railing, his legs crossed at the ankles, holding a bottle of beer in his hand. A strong breeze was tousling his hair, but the valiant Lieutenant paid no heed to any possible chill, and wore his shirt with his sleeves even rolled up.

Minnie shivered automatically, and hugged the blanket with which she had been covered, up a bit.

"Is he on the run?" she asked mischievously.

Mark gave a corroborative shrug.

"How come? You are so pleasantly relaxed."

He sighed. "Afraid it's my own fault. I make a bad patient. And being a patient in my own hospital didn't help it any. Not with a Foley."

Minnie nodded with understanding.

"I was irritably, and snapped at the nurses, so that Steve had to take me home. But, you see, it isn't only asking for rides that can lead to depressions. I had a very bad chest infection, and a pulmonary edema as a result from that. My breath was so short, that I needed assistance for simply everything. Even if the missing arm was no problem, I just didn't have the stamina to get myself dressed or anything. It's just for a couple of two weeks now that I can actually get up and do anything. I swear I was not pleasantly relaxed a couple of weeks back."

* * *

Steve stood against the railing, facing the brightly lit living room behind the multiple panes of the deck door.

What a strange day it had been.

Funny. The total number of disability in his home had doubled, and yet the unease had halved.

First he had feared he would die from shock when Minnie had called his Dad broken goods. But, he smiled to himself, she had certainly been cute about it.

He took a swig of beer, set the bottle on the railing, and ambled back to the grill to turn the steaks.

Cute seems to be the word of the day he thought. If he summed it all up, cute came out way ahead of words like Chrissake, or poor Dad, or whatever else had monopolized his mental vocabulary during the past months.

He looked in again.

His Dad was relaxed, and talked amicably with their guest.

Steve smiled. Only Minnie's head could be seen. Her shoulders didn't even come up to the top of the backrest of the couch.

His smile grew. She was so delicate. But certainly not frail. Just cute.

Now his smile grew slightly rueful. He had almost been ready to believe that Minnie had a huge crush on him.

But it seemed that admiration was just her way.

But well. She was disabled, and came from a whole other continent. No good pre-conditions for a relationship anyway.

And given his dating history, he was slowly coming to the point where he wouldn't even bother anymore.

He tried the meat on the grill with a gentle pressure of his thumb, was satisfied, and laid the steaks on some tin foil and wrapped them up.

Carrying the foil package in one hand, and his beer in the other, Steve went inside and kicked the door carefully shut.

He went to get the salad and potatoes from the kitchen, and then over to the couch to help Minnie back into her chair.

But she held up a halting hand. "No no, thank you. If you just leave my chair there by the end of the couch I'll get along just fine."

But to her embarrassment she found it tricky already to get her feet down on the floor. Her head hurt still, and her body was so stiff, that she almost toppled over when she leaned forwards to move her butt sidewards.

Steve was there with a strong arm and caught her.

"Minnie, maybe you should let Steve help you." Mark said. "You have a concussion, and should take it easy for some days."

She nodded embarrassed, and held up her injured hand. "It's kind of weird moving with this millstone."

"I'm sure it is." Steve endorsed, and scooped her up in his arms.

Minnie breathed a little sigh, and leaned her head against his shoulder, regretting that he only had to turn around to set her down.

Maybe she should claim that she always sits on a regular chair at the table, so that he would have to carry her all the way there.

Oh well.

"Minnie?"

She looked up.

"I was asking if you have a sweater I could get you." Steve said patiently, even though he was obviously repeating his sentence.

"Um, yeah. My cardigan. Will be right back."

Steve laid his hand on her shoulder, covering her arm almost down to her elbow. "Just tell me where I can find it. - Unless you don't want me to go through your belongings." he added.

"Oh. No problem. Thanks. It's right on top in my traveling bag." she said, and followed him with her gaze as he went there, admiring his powerful, purposeful strides.

Mark laid his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Minnie. Let's take a seat."

The chunky chair was so hard to move that she wasn't even positioned properly at the table, when Steve was back with her cardigan, and she was having second thoughts about sitting on a regular chair, because the armrests kept her from getting close enough to the table.

Steve helped her into the cardigan, and made the piece of clothing look delightfully exiguous between his big hands.

"You should have brought something warmer." he said, and tugged the narrow sleeve carefully over the cast. "This is hardly any protection against the chill, especially on a night like this."

He nodded towards the window wall, behind which a thunderstorm was building.

"Ya well, I don't have anything warmer." Minnie said lightly. "Okay. Maybe I do have a woolly sweater. But I only wear it when the temperatures drop below zero. It's a ragged old thing my sister gave me when she didn't like it anymore. You wouldn't want to see me in that."

The last sentence had unwittingly escaped her mouth, and she felt a gentle hue of red on her cheeks.

Steve bit on a smile, and handed his Dad their plates in turn. "I would like to see you in something warm enough." he said gently.

Minnie shrugged. "I don't freeze easily." she said, having trouble to keep her teeth from clicking, and indicated with a halting hand that one little dollop of sour cream was enough on her potato. "Really. I don't even wear a coat when we have minus temperatures. - Well, maybe if I have to be in the outdoors for a while. But it's not like I'm leaving my apartment very often. Except for my regular jogs."

Steve almost choked.

"Erm, ya well, I don't know what to call it else." Minnie elaborated. "I take my chair out into the country roads around my home town, and go for about ten to fifteen kilometers at a good pace. I don't race, but I don't idle either."

"Fifteen kilometers!" Steve repeated in exasperation. "In a _wheelchair_?"

Minnie smiled. "Well, it would be pretty awkward if I didn't take it along."

Mark laughed, and to his greatest surprise Steve found himself in a similar reaction. The cute way in which she had said it, at least made him chuckle.

"Honey," Mark said, "you seem to be well adjusted to your chair. You should be able to go out and about as you please."

Minnie turned to him. "Yeah. But where should I go without money? Cinema is out of the question, meeting somebody over a coffee is out of the question, - well, not that I would drink any coffee anyways..." She trailed off as she watched Mark eat, with a fork wedged into his hook, and using a knife and a fork alternately with his good hand.

"Did you learn it like that?"

He shrugged. "Well, yeah."

She nodded enlightened.

"Something wrong with it?" Mark wondered.

"Er, no. If you learned it like that." Again her cheeks colored. "I don't mean to be a backseat driver."

He chuckled. "You certainly aren't. Come on. What can I do?"

"Well, if you take the knife with your prosthesis, you don't have to go back and forth between knife and fork with your hand."

"I tried that. But the hook can't grab the knife tight enough. It rotates up when I press it down."

"It won't if you wedge the handle here between the pin that holds the cable, and the wrist and the hook."

She took the fork from the hook, and put the knife in instead, the way she had explained it.

"But really. I'm not sure it works for you." she added. "The guy who did it like this had half of his forearm."

Mark picked up his fork, and tried cutting off a bite.

He concentrated on the movement of his shoulder, trying to keep the cutting motion short and controlled.

"Well, I think with a little practice, this will be a way more feasible way. And I think if we keep our knifes sharp like this, this should be fine."

The bite came off, and Mark held it triumphantly up. "Thank you, Honey." he beamed. "This will save me some hassle. Seems you aren't only well-adjusted to your chair."

She shrugged. "Well, I used to see a lot of different disabilities in my sports club."

"You used to?"

"Well, I don't go there anymore. It's quite a ride to get there, and I just can't afford the gas."

"I see."

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, which helped her keeping the irritating shivering at bay. "Funny. Never once in my life anybody came up to me and said how terrible it is that I can't to all kinds of great things, because, poor me, I don't have the money for it. But everybody feels terribly sorry that I can't do walk-things anymore. That's weird, because I'm thinking that the money-thing is the worse disability. I mean, I can't walk, but I still can get around. I can still swim, but I can't afford the entrance fee for the public pool."

Steve wiped his mouth on his napkin, and laid it back in his lap with great care, in an attempt to conceal his unease about what he was going to do.

He cleared his throat. "I'm just wondering, Minnie. How could you afford this trip half around the world, if you don't mind me asking."

"I certainly don't mind." Minnie assured him. "I won this trip in a radio competition."

"And you have to pay for the lodging?" the detective in him asked.

"Yeah, it was kind of an arrangement. Actually it had just been a weekend trip. But the hotel room and everything was not suitable for wheelchairs. So I went to the radio station, and shamed the boss into making it an open trip, you know, just pay for the flight, but let me decide how long I wanted to stay. So I scraped all my money together, asked for Christmas gifts in advance, and with a totally cheap motel, and the crappy little car, I managed to get a two-weeks-stay out of it."

Steve nodded enlightened. "I see."

"I really wanted this, because my last vacation was, I don't know, more than ten years ago." She sighed. "Only of course the radio station is out of the responsibility to get me back home. I have to pay the cancelation fee, _and_ the later trip home. Whenever that will be."

Mark wiped his mouth with his napkin, and turned his chair a bit to be able to reach over and pat and squeeze Minnie's arm. "Well Honey, at least you don't have to worry about your lodging. You can stay here as long as you want to. And for the rest," He gave her hand another encouraging squeeze, "Maybe we can find a solution too."

Minnie looked down at the hand on hers. It was so pleasantly warm, and despite its age it was still strong, and its grip firm.

The touch conveyed a world of comfort, and Minnie felt a lump form in her throat, and her nose clogged up, heralding tears.

She sniffled, embarrassed by her repeated emotional reaction.

Mark passed her his hankie, and asked gently: "What is it?"

Minnie shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's just, this feels so good. Especially after those last two days. _Nobody _wanted to help me. First the shop keeper didn't want to call an ambulance, then the doctors snapped at me, because I couldn't make up my mind what I wanted to have scanned, my arm or my back, and to round it off, I had that very unpleasant discussion with my health insurance."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she looked embarrassed down in her lap.

Mark stood up and wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders. "Please don't worry anymore. Just let us take care, and I promise you we will see you through, safe and sound."

Minnie sighed, and allowed herself to lean a fraction closer to the elderly doctor.

His presence alone was so much comfort, that she almost believed his words.

Her tears ebbed away, and she wiped her cheeks with decisive flicks of her hand.

"Eww. You must think I'm a terrible sissy." she said, sitting up a bit more straight.

Mark chuckled, and brushed down her hair. "Not even a little bit of it."

Steve had watched his little guest's dismay with growing anger, and now had a sharp line between his brows when he asked: "How do you mean, the shop keeper didn't want to call an ambulance?"

Minnie slumped against her backrest with a sigh. "Well, that man was not very happy to have me in his shop. First, the ramp is on the backside of the building, for deliveries, and he had to get some boxes out of the way. And then the clothes stands were standing so close to each other, that my wheels made contact on both sides. And that didn't make the man any happier, because he feared I would get his precious products dirty. Which I actually did, when I rolled over the hem of a long dress. And when I didn't even buy anything, well, it didn't really make the man happy."

"Then who did call the ambulance?" Mark asked.

She shrugged. "After a while somebody came out of the neighbor building, and found me."

"After a while?" Steve flared up.

Again Minnie looked down in her lap, embarrassed by new tears in her eyes.

But the memory of lying on the ground in some dingy backyard, unable to move on her own, was not pleasant.

"Son, give it a rest now." Mark said, and turned again to lay his hand on Minnie's arm. "Maybe you should eat now, before it turns completely cold."

She nodded, and picked up her knife again. But she only pushed the huge piece of meat around on her plate, just not comfortable with the thought of getting food in her stomach.

After a short while of stalling like that, she looked up. "Uh, Dr. Sloan?"

"The name is Mark, please." he put in, and had to smile when Minnie sat in silent awe, sucking her lips.

"Now what was it you wanted to say?" he encouraged her indulgently to go on.

"I don't know." she said, her voice thin and meek. "I'm kind of maybe not so well."

Mark frowned, and had a closer look at her.

"And maybe my vision is slightly weird."

"You have double vision?"

"Just slightly weird." She looked up. "Do you think I can go to bed now?"

"I don't know, Minnie. I'd rather take you to the hospital now."

"No please. Don't worry. I'm just a tad tired."

"That is exactly what I fear." Mark said unperturbed. "Recurrent drowsiness is no good sign after a head injury."

"I'm not drowsy." Minnie insisted. "Please not to the hospital. Please! I had my fill of that for the next couple of years yesterday."

Mark saw that the thought of the hospital really distressed their guest, and weighed his options.

She certainly was alert and coherent. And that even in a language that wasn't native to her he reminded himself.

Basically she showed no signs of a change for the worse, but just symptoms that should be expected from a concussion.

He patted her hand. "Okay Honey. - Steve, you can bring her to bed, please."

Minnie slumped back with a relieved sigh. "Thank you."

Mark's curiosity was piqued, but now they had to see that Minnie would lie down and get some rest.

He could find out what was behind her fear to go to the hospital later.

He got his bag from the coffee table, and followed his son to the guestroom.

Steve pulled the bedspread down, and then scooped Minnie up to lay her carefully down on the fluffy pillow.

Mark sat down on the edge of the bed, and gave her another more or less thorough examination, which still didn't yield any alarming results.

He let her swallow two pills, and packed his instruments back in his bag.

"My nurse will be here in another ten minutes." he said. "She can help you change into your nightdress."

"But I can..."

Mark laid his finger on her lips to gently silence her. "I'm sure you can, but please not for the coming days, Honey. I understand it needs a lot of leaning from side to side, getting a pair of pants up or down."

Minnie nodded.

"And that 's a no-no. You have to take it easy."

She sighed. "Okay."

"Good. I'll leave the door open. Just call me if something comes up."

She nodded.

Philippa arrived after said ten minutes, and was surprised to find a new patient.

Five minutes later Minnie was ready and set to go to sleep, and again Mark told her that he would leave her door open a crack, so that she could call him if necessary.

He brushed down her hair, wished her a good night, and switched out the light.

- Too bad that Steve hadn't come in again to say good night, Minnie thought sadly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Super Human 5**

It was pitch dark when Minnie woke up. Rain was pounding against the window, driven by a gusty wind.

Minnie loved storms. But it would have been so much nicer if she had a comforter.

She never understood how Americans could stand sleeping under these thin blankets.

She hugged deeper into hers, but still felt unpleasantly cold.

She sighed. Her head was still hurting, and her stomach was maybe a little bit queasy.

She wriggled around to lie on her side, and tucked up in a ball, pulling her knees up almost to her chest.

Stupid cast.

The new position was good for her back, but didn't help her stomach a bit.

And she didn't grow any warmer.

Alone the knowledge that the cool outside air was not even a centimeter away from her skin let her shiver.

Lying on her side, she saw that her chair was standing almost a meter away from the edge of the bed.

Uh-oh. If her stomach grew any worse, she might need to go to the bathroom. Maybe even fast.

She should better put the chair into the proper position now.

Get out from under the cover? a part of her brain whined, and she tucked herself in yet a bit more.

And come to think of it: she had no idea where the bathroom was, since she had no need to go there, because she used a catheter.

She could make out in the darkness that her door was still ajar. But she sure didn't want to call for Dr. Sloan. It was only just going on five.

She sighed again.

"Minnie?"

A little light came on, showing Steve sitting in the gray wing chair, that had been standing by the fireplace.

"Anything wrong?"

Minnie winced at the painfully bright light, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Steve left the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed instead, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Aren't you feeling well?"

"Hmmm." she made indifferently, and felt after the warmth that seeped through the blanket from his hand.

What a treat to see him at this unlikely hour.

Ya well, she would have to open her eyes to actually see him.

And she did, because the sight of that handsomely perfect man sure was worth a little discomfort.

Squinting hard she rolled half back on her back, and took in the sight.

He had changed into a pair of exercise pants, and, - oh my gee! - into a sleeveless sweatshirt, which showed off his perfect strong arms.

Really perfect. A strong biceps, with a prominent vein running down on it to his elbow, casting a shadow even. He was well trained, but was no muscle heap.

Just perfect.

And the hair on his forearm shimmered golden in the light of the lamp.

He lifted his hand to feel her forehead, and the motion let his delt pop, and showed individual muscle strands, so perfect that Minnie gasped involuntarily.

"Are you in pain?" Steve asked worried.

Minnie shook her head, and was glad that in this dim light he most probably couldn't see the embarrassed color in her cheeks.

"I hope you don't mind me being here in your room." he said, and withdrew his hand from her forehead. "Usually Dad would have sat with you, but he was whacked. He needs his sleep."

"Oh yes sure. I mean sure he needs his sleep. I sure don't mind you being here. I mean, I sure do, erm, I mean, you don't have to waste your night on me. I mean babysitting me." she added hastily.

She realized that she was only talking herself deeper into doo-doo, and shut her mouth up, biting on her lips.

Now she was certain she had blushed to such a crimson, that even could be seen in this poor lighting.

Steve smiled, trying to contain it at the edges, as not to let his amusement become obvious.

"My night sure is not wasted. Dad was a bit worried about you, and feared you might get sick."

Minnie made a grand, dismissive gesture. "Naww. I'm all fine."

He smiled still, but pointed gently out: "You don't look fine. And you didn't sound fine."

He picked a small plastic cup from the night case. "Dad left a pain pill. Do you want to take it?"

Minnie sighed, but nodded assent.

"I'll get you a Coke." he said, rising to his feet.

"No!" she exclaimed aghast. "You sure don't have to open a whole can for only just six little sips! The rest would just go to waste! And that would be such a waste!"

Steve's nose crinkled up in his efforts to not show his amusement. "I promise I'll drink it up." he said, and headed for the kitchen.

Minnie groaned and let her arm flop over her eyes.

Here she was, with the perfect man in her bedroom. And not only didn't she have some excitatory diaphanous negligé, and, well, some awesomely long legs with curves, no. Instead she wore her prim little light blue shorty, with prim little lapels, and comic book characters printed all over, and was acting totally strange.

Oh well, she should be glad that he was at least talking to her.

Men like him usually don't take any notice of girls like her.

Oh wow, she thought. He sure is a man.

Steve came back with the Coke, and sat back down by her side.

"The pain that bad?"

Minnie took her arm down, and gave him a wry smile. "No. Don't worry."

She meant to press herself up to sit, but just couldn't get her hands far enough back.

"Let me help you." Steve said, and slipped his hands under her arms.

"It's that idiot cast." she muttered embarrassed.

Steve nodded. He handed her the pill, and then the glass.

Now that the covers were down to her waist, Minnie couldn't keep her hand from shaking from the biting cold.

"Goodness you are freezing." Steve realized alarmed.

She shrugged noncommittally, since there was hardly any sense in denying the obvious.

The open door knocked, and Mark entered. "Is something wrong?"

"Dad she's freezing. Can I get my quilt from your room?"

"Sure. Do that."

He let Steve pass, and sat down in his place instead.

Minnie had crawled back under the covers, and had them bunched up before her face, so that only her eyes peeked over the edge.

"What's wrong, Honey?" Mark asked gently.

"Had I known how much of a hassle I would be," she peeped meekly, "I would have let you taken me to the hospital."

"You are no hassle." he burred, and brushed the back of his fingers over her forehead. "The head still hurting?"

She thought of shrugging it off, but the doctor was already casting a look at the little plastic cup.

"I just took the pill. But otherwise I'm fine. Still no nausea."

Her stomach really couldn't be that bad. She had completely forgotten about it while Steve had sat with her.

Mark nodded.

Steve came back, and unfolded a surprisingly small quilt, that just was long enough to cover her.

Going by his awesome at-least-six-feet, she had expected it to be something at least queen-sized.

She peeled her hand out from under the covers, and brushed it over the quilt top. It was made of big blocks of five point stars, of various check fabrics in navy blue and burgundy, on a beige background.

And it had a distinct scent of lavender.

"Oh it is your baby quilt!" she realized with delight in her eyes. "You had it stored away."

Mark chuckled softly, and patted her hand that was brushing over the quilt with so much care and awe. "Yes. Nobody fits under it anymore."

So Steve doesn't have any children?

She tucked her hand back under the covers, and tugged them up to her nose. "I'm all fine."

Mark smiled, and patted her leg. "Good." He stood up. "If anything comes up, just call me."

Steve nodded.

"Try to catch some more sleep." Mark said, and left the room.

Minnie followed him with her gaze.

At least she wasn't the only one prim. The pajamas Mark was wearing were nicely old-fashioned, white stripes on blue, and both it and his dressing gown had lapels. That the dressing gown was open, was only owed to his inability to tie a knot quickly, Minnie was sure.

"Is there something else I can do?"

She looked back at Steve. "No thank you." she purred. "I'm all fine."

He smiled, and picked the glass from the night case. For a moment he just stood. Then he brushed the tips of his fingers ever so carefully over the quilt, where her arm was lying under it. "Then g..." He bit his tongue, and instead of 'go back to sleep' he said: ".. get some more sleep."

"Ya but you really don't have to stay." she said. "You should go to bed too now."

He just gave her a nonchalant smile, and sauntered back to the wing chair.

"Really. You don't have to sit me. I'm a big girl."

Steve had to purse his lips to keep his amused smile inside, and cast another look over the little person under the little quilt in the tall bed.

"Good night." he said, and switched out the light.

"Good night."

* * *

Minnie woke up from an eventually restful sleep.

The knowledge that Steve was with her, watching over her, had made her feel incredibly safe.

And when she saw that the chair was empty now, she couldn't help but feel a little pang.

But only for a moment.

The storm had cleared away, and the sun shone brightly into a friendly room of blues and whites, and expensive dark wood.

The curtains had a sweet little floral print, and in the seats under the multi-paned windows lay Mitford check cushions.

Minnie's bed was tall, had a massive wooden headboard with carvings, but no posters.

Still, she felt like a princess.

Oy. The princess had slept in. It was past nine already.

Goodness. No wonder her back felt like somebody had performed Riverdance on it. She had been lying on it for some thirteen hours or so.

She wriggled around to lie on her side, and from that position was able to press herself up, although she had embarrassingly many problems doing so.

Goodness. She really needed to move.

And to get started on that she locked her hands behind her head, and meant to twist from side to side now. But only half through the first twist, a stabbing pain in her back made her wince, and so she postponed her exercises.

Well, she should get up anyway.

Her chair was still standing too far away, and she wondered if she would be able to get into it, stiff as she was.

"Good morning Minnie."

Instant relief and delight swept away the pained expression on her face, and let her eyes shine as she gushed excitedly: "Steve!"

She realized that she had been maybe a tad too exuberant, and felt her cheeks grow pink.

"Uh, good morning." she added, carefully well-measured and mannerful.

Steve chuckled softly. He set his cup of coffee down on the desk, and came to her side. "How are you?"

Minnie looked around the delightful room, and secretly down the trim body standing so closely next to her.

She breathed a little sigh. "I'm all fine."

Steve chuckled again. "I'll get my Dad."

Some moments later the elderly doctor came in with his black bag and a sunny smile, and showed no signs that his sleep had been disturbed at the ungodly hour of five.

"Good morning, Minnie. You slept well?"

"Yes!" she gushed, and almost blundered on how wonderfully good it had felt that Steve had been by her side.

Instead the color in her cheeks were refreshed, and she paid great attention to folding the covers neatly around her waist. "Yes I slept all fine."

Steve picked up his coffee and the news papers. "I'll be outside."

"Thank you, Son." Mark said, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So, how are you today?"

"I'm fine. Really."

Mark tugged down her lower eyelid with his thumb, cupping her face in his hand in the process.

Too bad it lasted just two seconds. The touch of the warm hand felt so wonderful and comforting.

It had been some years since Minnie had last let somebody get that close to her, and even longer since she last enjoyed that.

But these two men were like nothing she had known before.

"How is the head?"

"Maybe a tad not so fine." she admitted, and at the same time shrugged it lightly off.

"What kind of pain is it?" he asked. "Sharp, or rather dull?"

"Dull. It's kind of lurking in the back of my head."

Mark nodded, and took out his blood pressure gauge.

They wrapped it around her arm like yesterday, and again Minnie slipped the chest piece in place.

"Seventy over fifty-five. That is still much too low." Mark judged, and regarded her with a worried look.

She obviously hurt. Her whole body was in a relieving posture, and she obviously had trouble bending her cervical spine.

He was glad they would do the scan later in the day.

"Honey, would you mind telling me what your condition exactly is?" he asked gently, "Why is the paraplegia progressing?"

She shrugged. "Sure I don't mind. My back is just crappy. I have a terribly small spinal canal, and a lot of discs slipping."

"And you never considered having your spine fused?"

Minnie snorted with a duh-expression. "I sure don't let any doctor get anywhere near my spine with a knife!"

"Honey, if your discs prolapse that much that they bruise your cord, you must be in a hell of a lot pain."

She shrugged again. "Well yeah. But actually the paralysis is a result of a catheter treatment. You see, they planted a catheter in my spinal canal, and when they pulled it out again, something popped, and my lower legs were numb."

"What did they say was it?"

"Nothing. The doctor said that was impossible. But he offered me graciously that I could see the hospital's neurologist."

"Then what did he say?"

"Nothing." Minnie shrugged. "They kept saying the doctor would see me in another twenty minutes or so, until I had to leave in the afternoon. They knew I couldn't stay any longer, because I had to pick up my children."

Mark's brows were drawn deep down, and bunched over the base of his nose. "They injured your spinal cord and sent you _home_?"

"Yeah," she confirmed lightly, "you see I was there as a junkie and, well basically a pretender. My doctor had treated my spine for a couple of years, and then decided it was just impossible that it didn't improve, and that I only claimed that I was in pain, to get the drugs."

Mark heaved a sigh, and tossed his glasses on the night case. "Yes. Afraid that many many pain patients go untreated, or insufficiently treated, because of that problem. And it isn't totally uncommon that people claim pain to get drugs. But a stenosis and slipping discs should tell their own story. Wasn't your doctor aware of them?"

"Oh, he diagnosed it all. I would have never gone into any treatment I think. I had back pain since I was thirteen, and it just was a part of my life. I never took any pain pills. But then I had a real bad prolaps one day, when I put my son in his bed. It was really awful, and I could really hardly move." Minnie shrugged again, and her way of talking grew even another notch lighter. "You see, I used to babysit another little boy back then. The family lived in the same apartment building, and our boys were just two months apart in age. Well, the other boy's dad was a doctor. Coincidentally a pain specialist. He kind of dragged me into a treatment, and he started giving me pain pills, so I would be back on my feet soon." She sighed. I'm not saying I wasn't addicted. I think it would make me some kind of prodigy, if I could take opiates for some years, and don't get addicted. But only because my body is addicted, it doesn't mean that I don't need pain relief."

"Yes Honey. You are absolutely right there. That is a terrible misconception, that is only too popular."

He took her hand in his, and sighed again. "How is your current state, if you don't mind me asking. Was the pain under control before you came here?"

"I don't mind you asking." she assured him so honestly. "My pain is..." She shrugged. "Well, I can live with it."

"You still don't get medication?"

Minnie didn't shrug, and she didn't look down in her lap. She looked him squarely in the eye and explained calmly: "It gets a weird dynamics when one was once flagged as a junkie. One goes to another doctor, explains the problem, and he checks back with the first doctor. Flag goes up, and no drugs get prescribed. Then one goes to another doctor, explain, check, flag. _And_ another flag says 'has tried to get drugs from another doctor before.' See the pattern? I tried five doctors. And in the end I had to fear that they take my children away. Single mothers with a drug problem are youth-authorities' favorite prey."

Mark could only shake his head. Yes, he knew this wasn't a particular case, some freak concurrance of bad luck and bad doctors. This was the reality of pain treatment.

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Honey, I almost don't dare to ask. But if you are in such a financial squeeze..."

"No I didn't get a compensation. And I would have never sued for one. Actually, the wheelchair was the only good that came from all that. You know, after that real bad prolaps my spine really grew rotten. I always had to take care that I moved properly, that I didn't lift anything heavy, and whatnot. And after a couple of years my left leg became sluggish, and I always had to estimate my ways, because I couldn't walk any great distances anymore. I limped, and walked kind of hunched over, which was bad on my back again. Really. When I got that chair, my whole life got a turn for the better. Plus the fact that I was actually glad when the neurologist … what's this when they check the speed of your nerve reaction?"

"A nerve conduction velocity test." Mark explained automatically.

"Well, when they tested that, they actually diagnosed the paralysis. You know, with so many doctors telling me that I was just making it all up, I really had started to have serious doubts about my sanity."

"I certainly see your point, Honey. But, a lifelong disability seems to be a terribly high price for that."

"I'm not disabled." Minnie said. And while Mark was aware that her earlier lightness had just been a mechanism to keep potentially depressing facts out of her hair, he now felt that she really meant it. "I only gained." she went on. "I can get around again, without fearing to get stranded in the middle of a grocery shop. And how lucky am I: I can still stand and even shuffle a bit. - And the way the paralysis has progressed from my lower legs to my hips, I figure I would be in a chair by now anyway. After considerably more pain than I had after that catheter incident. Because when they injured my cord, they also shut of a constant pain, all the way down my sciatic nerve to my knee. It had been there for years, and not even the opiates could make it go away. It only just got dimmed for maybe half an hour."

Mark sat, by now kneading Minnie's hand more than just rubbing it gently.

"You know," he began cautiously, and hoped that his look conveyed that he understood, "we have a renowned specialist for spinal cord injuries in our..."

"I'm not seeing doctors anymore." she cut him short. She didn't mean to be rude, and so in turn took his hand in hers, and rubbed it in a friendly fashion.

"Honey, I understand you, very much so. And I promise you that I will – _personally_! make sure that they don't give you any of that crap."

A little bit of the tension left Minnie's shoulders, and she looked up at Mark with - not with awe, Mark realized surprised, but with utter trust.

"Yes," she said softly, and lifted his hand to cup her face in it. "You would take care of me, you would."

Very gently he caressed her cheek, brushing his thumb over the white, porcelain skin. Carefully. As if any larger movement could shatter the bond that suddenly was between them.

She closed her eyes with a sigh, and still held his hand to her head.

"I promise," he almost whispered, "that they won't hurt you. I'll pencil you..."

To his surprise she cut him short again.

"I'm not seeing doctors anymore."

"But... Minnie! I _told_ you I will be there, and I _will_. You don't have to worry at all."

Minnie opened her eyes, and sat up a little more straight, putting Mark's hand down in her lap.

"I'm not seeing doctors anymore." she repeated, her voice calm and measured. "They almost took away my sanity. They diagnosed me with a potentially traumatizing condition, and then ridiculed my symptoms. They exercised all their power on my life, and sent me on a cold withdrawal from opiates three times, well aware that I had to take care of two little children. When they were through with me I couldn't bear having anybody close to me. Literally. I couldn't stand being wedged in between people in a check-out line. And yet I came out on top. I got my life back, and pretty much in an order. I decided to not let them win, and I decided I still can be happy. And I am. But I'm not seeing doctors anymore. And when the day before yesterday the doctors snapped at me, because I couldn't make up my mind whether I wanted my back scanned, or my arm, it only confirmed that that was the smartest decision I ever made in my life. - I'm gonna let you take me to have my back scanned, but I'm not happy with it."

Mark didn't know what to say. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that little person had been through. And he couldn't even begin to imagine how she could have so much faith in him.

He moved up a bit, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a hug that was as much comfort to him, as he hoped it was for her too.

And maybe it was, because the slight shaking of her whole body ceased.

Minnie breathed a little sigh, and carefully locked the door to her past again. Only because it was there was no reason to let it get on her back. Life is too good, and too short for crap like that.

She allowed herself another moment of warm comfort, and collected herself.

Then she looked up. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Yes Honey, it is. And we should see that we get you ready for it." He let go of her, and sat back again. "Afraid my nurse was here already. But I can call the agency that they send somebody else, and we have breakfast until then."

Minnie gasped in alarm. "Really. I sure can't afford a private nurse, and you sure won't pay for one for me."

"But that..."

"Ta ta. At home I not only take care of myself, but also about two children. I'll get along. Promise. And if you don't want me to wriggle into my pants, I sure won't die from you helping me in."

Mark sighed, but then kissed her forehead with a smile. "Okay. But let me get Steve back to help you into your chair."

"Yes." she purred, and drew her shoulders up a bit.

Mark thought she looked like a sparrow that would fluff its feathers with pleasure and delight the next moment.

He left the guestroom in search for his son, and Minnie looked out of the window again.

What a beautiful day it was.

* * *

Minnie was thrilled. Not only did she have her own private bathroom, but now she was going to have breakfast outside on the deck!

Her old apartment used to have a balcony, and she always had enjoyed having her meals there, under the fresh green roof of a tall chestnut tree.

But after her divorce she had to move into something more cheap, and had foregone a balcony for a couple of more square meters instead.

She made her way through the enormous living room, loathing the chunky chair with its low pressure tires that squeaked on the hard wood floor.

She maneuvered the chair through the door frame of the deck door, and then stood rooted to the floor. She looked out over the white railing, and her hand flew up to her mouth with a little gasp.

"That is the _ocean_!"

"Yes it is." Mark confirmed amused.

Minnie looked around, and wheeled over to the left side, where a wooden staircase went down to the beach, and leaned over the railing.

"Where is the city?" she wondered, turning around again.

Mark chuckled. "You don't know where we are?"

"Uh, no. Nobody has told me so far."

"We are in Malibu, Honey. Los Angeles is there behind that jut." He pointed far out east, and chuckled again when Minnie gasped again.

"Oh my God," she whined, _"the _Malibu?"

"Yes, _the_ Malibu."

_"_But Malibu is Mercedes-City, and I'm only Beetle."

Mark tee-hee-ed delighted. "And a sweet beetle too."

"But nobody can afford to live in Malibu!"

"We get along." Mark told her amused, and stood up. "Come here, Honey," He laid his hand on her back. "take your seat."

Steve stood up too. "Coffee?"

"Ah, ya, no. Thank you."

He inclined his head. "Tea then?"

"No really, you shouldn't bother."

"It sure is no bother." he assured her.

"Naww, it's such a hassle. My tea has to be Earl Grey, and a pretty golden shade, so that one can see a rock candy melt at the bottom of the cup. And then it takes _ages _until it is cool enough for me to drink."

Steve bit on his amused smile, but was a bit at a loss. "Yeah well, we don't have much else. Unless you want to drink a Diet Coke, we only have orange juice and milk..."

Minnie perked up, and clapped her hands in delight. That is, she put her hands together under her chin, and only clapped her fingers. "Oh you have milk! - Is it cold?"

"Yes it is cold." Steve reassured her.

"You think I could have a glass please? - Just not a very big one please."

Steve went into the kitchen to get it.

First he automatically reached for a mug, but then hesitated.

It seemed that Minnie was quite particular about what she drinks, and also how. So he opened the other cupboard, and took a glass out instead.

He also took the coffee along, to refill his Dad's and his own cups.

"And what can I get you to eat?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and putting his ankle up on his knee. "Would you like pan cakes, or rather eggs?"

Minnie's face showed distinct displeasure.

"Of course you can also have toast. Or cereals." Mark offered, more attuned to the fact that most girls don't appreciate great big meals for breakfast.

"Mmmmm." she made indifferently, and began to have her milk spoon by spoon. "I think I'm fine with this." She indicated the glass in her hand with a nod.

Mark tucked his chin back and gave her a pointed look like over the rims of his reading glasses, which he wasn't wearing right now. "Honey, you haven't had your dinner last night. You need to get something into your stomach."

"Well," She indicated her glass more pointedly. "I do."

"Something solid." Mark said unperturbed.

"I meant to get sandwich things right after I was done at the medical supply store shop thingie."

Mark sighed. "When did you last eat something?"

"Right before I went to the medical supply store shop thingie." Minnie bragged.

"And what was it?"

She shrank back against her backrest. "An apple."

Mark sighed.

"Look," Minnie said, "I'm a bit trapped here. "If I eat something, my stomach will get maybe a leetle bit queasy, and you'll start worrying. And if I don't eat, my stomach will be okay, but you will worry anyway."

"You feel nauseated?" Mark asked worried.

"See?"

He gave a rueful shrug.

"Please." Minnie said in a tone of voice that indicated that she had weighed all her options. "I feel okay. But I feel also that that might change if I fill my stomach." She laid her hand on his prosthetic wrist. "So, I'm afraid I'm gonna worry you either way. But I'd prefer doing it without aggravating my tummy."

Mark nodded, and patted her hand on his wrist.

"Thank you."

Some moments elapsed in silence, while Minnie slowly progressed with her milk.

"Steve?"

"Yes Minnie?"

She gave him one of her frank looks. "You won't keep treading on egg shells around me, and avoid to say 'go', would you?"

Again Steve was surprised that he didn't felt caught. Instead he said calmly: "I'm sorry, but I just don't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You won't hurt my feelings." she assured him.

"But, it sure must hurt when I tell you to 'go' somewhere. I mean, it seems terribly rude..." Now he even trailed off for fear to say something wrong.

"No it won't hurt me. Really. 'go' is still the proper term."

"But it will always remind you that you cannot walk anymore."

"Absolutely not. In the opposite. I usually don't feel handicapped and tend to forget about it. Only when people start treading on eggshells I get reminded of my handicap."

"Oh I'm sorry." he said dismayed. "I really don't mean to..."

Minnie gave him an open smile, making him as comfortable as possible. "Please don't worry. Being reminded is not the problem. It's just being treated like I am different that bugs me. And it isn't like I wouldn't notice if just only nobody mentions it." she added amused.

"But you just said yourself that you want to forget about it."

"Nope. I said I _tend_ to forget. Because it is so normal for me not to walk anymore. But I still _go_ shopping, and I _go_ for a walk, just like you _go_ downtown even though you take your car, or you _go _for a ride, maybe on a bicycle or so. - I don't carry my disability like a burden. When I wake up in the morning I just transfer into my chair, and start going, and don't think 'boo-hoo, if I only could get up and walk'. Just the same like _you _never jump out of bed and think 'gee, it's so amazingly great that I can walk'."

Both men chuckled, and Steve not even very ruefully.

"I'm not saying that there aren't gimps who are like that, or who take advantage of their situation and make everybody around them feel bad for still being able to walk. But it's those darn TV shows and movies that got it all screwed up. Every soap opera will have some protagonist in a wheelchair, and he will get all depressed over it, and withdraw from his friends and all, until suddenly he can by some miracle walk again, and justice has won one more time. - And that's crap anyway I might add, because from just having a little feel in ones legs, it's still a whole world to actually walk. But anyway, that has just nothing to do with reality. Of course, a sudden disability comes as a shock. Nobody wakes up in hospital and thinks 'oh hey gee, I can't walk anymore'. It sure needs a little time to adjust. But after a while it simply becomes natural."

Steve regarded their little guest with his head tipped to one side, and his lips pursed over a little, tentative smile.

There was just nothing of the impression he usually got from his Dad, that he was just putting up an act on his behalf.

His Dad.

His gaze was drawn to the other side of the table, and instantly he felt himself tense up again.

He knew he was looking him unnaturally straight in the eye, but he just didn't want to give the impression that he was staring at the prosthesis.

Mark felt his son's unease, and inwardly heaved a sigh. But on the outside he smiled. Relaxed. And he corroborated: "That is so."

"Though I have to say," Minnie said, "that an amputation is totally different. An amputation is a scary thing, because one isn't whole anymore. And it involves all those scary words, like stump, and prosthesis, and amputation too. And there is just no putting lipstick on the pig, a stump is a weird sight."

Steve almost choked, and Mark tee-hee-ed merrily. "Yes, you can say that."

"It's perfectly okay if your stomach turns." Minnie told Steve in the brightest fashion, and reached over to take Mark's hook in her hand, caressing the gleaming steel with her thumb. "But I promise you'll get used to it."

Steve couldn't help but smile, and found himself looking at his Dad's hook with a good feeling in his stomach for the first time.

And he was not surprised that his Dad looked truly happy.

He pursed his lips, but the smile remained. "That is good to know."

He took the last swig of his coffee, and cast a look at his watch. "Listen, I hate to break this up, but I've got to run. I have to take care of something, but I'll be back in time to take you to the hospital."

He picked up the empty cups and the glass, and carried them inside. Then he took his jacket from his backrest, but only hung it over his arm. "If anything comes up, call me." he said, and went down the stair.

Minnie followed him with her gaze, until he was out of sight.

Then she smiled at Mark. "He isn't on the run this time, is he?"

He smiled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "No he isn't. Thank you, Honey."

She held his hook for some more moments, actually enjoying the close contact.

Then she gave her thighs a purposeful slap, and pushed back from the table. "Well, I figure there is a lot of house that needs keeping. Where can I start?"

"You don't start anywhere." Mark told her. "You lie down and have some rest."

"You don't think that at home I could even _think_ of staying in bed with only just a leetle headache."

"You don't have only just a leetle headache. You have a concussion, and need to rest."

"Well, the good thing about these," She patted her chair, "is that one can do one's sitting in anysome place. My head won't notice the difference between sitting here, taking it easy, or sitting in the kitchen for instance, helping you prepare lunch."

"But I would notice. And also I'm talking about actually lying down. Honey, there is something wrong with you. And I would rather see you flat on your back, until I have it checked out."

"But I..."

Mark dipped his chin, and gave her a pointed look.

But Minnie wouldn't give up so easily, and tugged on his sleeve to make him stoop down so she could whisper into his ear. "But I can't let the old man do all the chores."

He chuckled, and whispered back: "The old man can call in a house help if it gets too much for him."

Minnie gasped in alarm. "You sure don't have to pay for a help if you have _me_ in the house!"

Mark kissed her forehead, and turned her chair towards the couch. "The old man hasn't even started yet."

He shuttled her in, piled up some cushions, and let Minnie transfer, and lie down.

"Anything I can bring you?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a mock pout, making it clear that maybe he can make her lie down, but he couldn't make her let him run her errands.

Mark kissed her forehead with a smile, and went to get her a Coke.

He moved to pull the chair out, so he could pull the coffee table back up so she could reach the glass, but Minnie stopped him.

"No good idea."

"Honey you don't need it for the moment."

"Still, no good idea. Can we please make it a rule that my chair always stays within reach? At least when you aren't around. You see, I'm not really expecting you to take a fall in the kitchen, or that the house goes up in flames. But still. Not having my chair in reach really gives me a bad feeling. - And shit _does _happen."

"Yes." he burred, and patted her hand. "Shit does happen."

So he brought a little tray, to put the glass safely on the couch next to Minnie, and went to clean the bathrooms.

Minnie lay on the couch, and looked around.

The place was huge, but looked wonderfully gemütlich. And even though the furniture most certainly was expensive, it still looked like it could be found in any - well, maybe upscale - cabin in the woods. The tall L-shaped couch she was lying on was of finest cowhide. But it was well worn, and sure no show exhibit.

All in all, Minnie didn't feel awkward in her simple clothes, or out of place. Which she sure would have expected in a Malibu home.

And she didn't even feel out of place around the two men. She _had_ recognized the little polo pony and player on Mark's shirt, but otherwise there was just nothing blaring 'rich!' in his style, least of all his worn loafers.

She breathed a happy sigh.

When she had been at her doctor's apartment, back in Hamburg, sitting his baby, she had never dared sitting down on his expensive leather couch in her Jeans.

But well, she _was _glad that she had bought this new pair of white Jeans before the trip. It went only half down her lower legs, and with the pair of white sneakers it looked just so much more nice than her plain old Blue Jeans.

And feeling good, and pleased with the world in general, she began to sing 'Please Don't Eat The Daisies'.

And when Mark fell in with the harmonies, she was nearly thrilled, instead of being embarrassed being caught singing.

Mark was sitting on one leg on the backrest, and seemed to be just as delighted as she was.

"Gee, you like to sing, you do?"

Minnie rubbed her earlobe in an embarrassed gesture, but had to grin anyway. "Yeah."

"And you have a beautiful voice." Mark assured her, and took her hand. "Maybe you should stay until Christmas. Because every year I'm having trouble finding singers for the Christmas party at the hospital."

She sucked her lips, and felt how her cheeks turned pink. Because she found herself thinking: Yeah, wouldn't that be great?

She cleared her throat, and then said in the most neutral way: "Oh, erm, I think I should call the wheelchairplace, and see what goes with my chair."

"Yes Honey. Sure. Let me get the phone."

"Oy, now where do I have that silly phone number?"

"I have it right here." Mark said over his shoulder, and saw Minnie's chin tuck back in puzzlement.

He tapped his prosthesis. "Same place. You met Steve there?" he jogged her memory.

"Oh. Yes. Sure."

How could she forget?

Mark handed her the mobile handset and a calling card, and went to the kitchen to take stock of the contents of the fridge.

When Minnie had stopped talking, he went back, taking a note pad along.

"So, any good news?"

"Not really." she said meekly.

When he came around the couch, Mark saw that she was very close to tears.

He sat down on the edge, facing her, and took out his hankie. "That bad?"

"It's a total write-off. It's not only the broken ball bearing, but the whole right front frame, where the pivot is attached, is full of hairline cracks and fissures." She bit her lips. "Well," her chin quivered, and a tear rolled down her cheek, "at least I don't have to wait and pay for repair."

Mark dabbed the hankie at her eye, and then cupped her face in his hand. "Don't worry, Honey. There are still a lot of words to be said in this matter. Say, if I call your health insurance company, would they understand me?"

"Um, yes I'm sure." she replied a bit perplex. "If maybe not all the clerk people, but sure the manager folks."

"Then it would be nice if you'd give me the number." He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "And now," He waggled the note pad, "let's make a shopping list. First: what would you want to drink?"

Slowly, patiently, and amused he extracted all the information from her he needed, under her constant assurance that he needn't pay any attention to her whims, and that actually she was totally uncomplicated, and practically ate everything.

"Good." he finally said pleased. "I'll just pop over to the Trancas Market, and get what we need for lunch."

Minnie moved to sit up. "I can..."

"Hush honey, you stay put." Mark said, and gently pressed her back into the cushion.

"But I have a car..."

"It's just across the road."

She sighed, and held her hands up in surrender.

"Okay. I'll be right back. - Anything you need before I go?"

She shook her head.

"Okay."

"Mark?"

He turned back. "Yes Honey?"

"Since when do you have that arm on?"

"Well, since eight."

"Maybe you want to consider going without? The skin really looks bad, and you'll be in deep doo-doo when it breaks down. And I figure you will want to wear it when you prepare lunch?"

"You are right." he said, and shrugged out of the harness. "And I'm gonna get stares anyway. With arm, or without."

He laid the prosthesis on the table, and let Minnie roll up the sleeve.

She peeled off the thick stump sock, and tenderly brushed her thumb over the red skin. "I'm not too sure I want to let you prepare lunch."

He kissed her forehead. "We'll see how it looks after it got some air. If it's still red, we still can order."

Minnie wanted to protest, but she had a hunch it would be futile. So she just lay back, and indicated that she intended to be a good girl, and stay put.

After the front door had banged shut she heaved a sigh, and clumsily reached for the folded blanket, lying over the backrest of the couch.

She doubted that she could have gone anywhere. Promise or not. Her head hurt, and she had felt how stiff she was when she had reached up to roll up the sleeve.

And as she was lying there, she realized that she couldn't even heave a sigh anymore.

Or breathe easily actually.

Every motion provoked now a stabbing pain.

* * *

Mark stood on the landing between the two flights of stairs up to his front door, leaning heavily on his knee, trying to catch his breath.

His trip to the grocery shop had taken way longer than intended, owed to the fact that he knew practically everybody, and everybody wanted to let him know how terribly sorry they were that he had lost his arm.

So he had rushed back home, and that apparently was too much for his weak lungs.

For the life of him, he couldn't ascend the second flight right now.

It took him almost five minutes to recover enough and finally get into the house.

"I'm sorry Minnie it took so long." he called up, his voice annoyingly brittle and unsteady. "But it was just a plethora of acquaints wanting to assure me of their sorrow for the harrowing experience... - Well I think you know what I mean." He took some deep breaths, and slowly ascended into the livingroom. "Well, Malibu actually is a small community. If you take away the Colony, and the rest where the super stars lock themselves off. - Minnie?"

He waited for an answer.

"Minnie?" he called again, more urgent.

When still no answer came he got a very bad feeling, and his body started to function on some kind of auxiliary backup power. He rushed through the length of the spacy room, and looked anxiously over the backrest.

Minnie was still lying there, and she was conscious and focused. Which was a relief for his worst fears.

But her looks didn't help any in dissolving what his medical mind had come up with.

She was lying stiff, her shoulders drawn up almost to her ears, and tried to breathe tiny, shallow breaths, to keep the obvious pain at bay.

Talking would require too much pressure, too much use of her chest musculature, but she kind of whined a high-pitched tone, that, along with a contorted expression, was meant as an apology.

"Shh Honey." he soothed her, "It's okay. Like we said: shit does happen." He picked up the phone, and wedged it in between his chin and shoulder, to have his hand free to hold Minnie's. "I'm gonna take you to the hospital now. I fear you have hurt your back more than you thought."

She blinked her assent, neither willing, nor able to actually nod her head.

"Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of you." he promised.


	6. Chapter 6

**Super Human 6**

Steve slid into the drivers seat of his car, and banged the door shut with a satisfying _thunk._

He had just slapped a seal on the door of the fashion shop, which would stay closed until it met with all the ADA's requirements for wheelchair accessibility.

And he had also shared his mind with the manager, about what he thought of people who not only pay no heed to the needs of people with a disability, but actually made it hard on them.

And next he would call the company headquarters, and see that that jerk gets fired.

He turned the ignition key with a flourish.

He felt good.

Revived.

Strong.

He was taking action, and actively make things better.

And strange as it was: he didn't have to worry about his Dad.

Just as he was pulling out of his parking booth, his mobile trilled.

He fumbled it from his pocket, and flipped it open. "Sloan."

"Steve," he heard his Dad's faint voice, along with the all too familiar wheeze, and disturbingly close sirens.

"Dad! What's wrong?" he asked, all his good feelings falling away from him in a blink.

"Nothing wrong... with me." Mark said as convincingly as possible, while trying to get enough air into his lungs to speak. "It's Minnie. I'm... taking her to ... hospital. ... Meet me there."

"Dad you sound terrible! What's wrong?" Steve insisted urgently.

"Nothing wrong. No worry."

The line closed with a click.

Steve tossed the phone into the passenger seat with an exasperated sigh, and smacked his bubble light on his roof.

With wailing sirens he did a hazardous U-turn, and sped off in the opposite direction.

**

* * *

**

Mark was annoyed that he had to sit down in the transport chair of the ambulance, but as it was he would just slow everything down in his current state.

Now he was wheeled into the emergency room, breathing oxygen from a face mask.

"Seventy-seven year old male," the EMT announced, "State post recent amputation and penetrating chest wound with infection and pleurisy. B.p. 115/80."

"Oh my God Mark!" Jesse exclaimed, and came rushing to his side, reaching for the chart. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Mark groused, and tore off the oxygen mask. "I want you to..."

"You have to keep the mask on." Jesse admonished, and slipped it back in place. "Now tell me, what happened?"

"It's _not_ me!" Mark insisted irritably. "I'm bringing a spinal injury I want you to.."

Jesse cut him short. "Dr. Sanders is going to take care of that." He held the door to an exam room open. "We have to make sure now you aren't developing a new edema."

"Jesse!" Mark said, all his authority forced into the two syllables, despite his brittle voice. Now that the chair stood still, he rose to his feet, taking conscious advantage of his still six feet to tower over his young friend, and fright him into silence.

He removed the oxygen mask again, and glowered at Jesse from under a terrific frown. "You listen to me. I brought a spinal injury I want _you _to have a look at." He moved towards the door, expecting the young doctor to follow. "She went through some devastating experiences with doctors, and I _promised _her that I will take care of her."

He directed an expectant look at the number of exam rooms, and Jesse obediently indicated the one where the second patient had been brought to.

Mark found Minnie still lying on the gurney, looking even smaller, and paler than usual, and her brown eyes were wide with fear.

Mark took her hand, kissed it with reassuring pressure, and said softly: "It's okay, Honey. Everything will be fine."

"Dr. Sloan." Dr. Sanders said surprised, "Why don't you let Jesse have a look at you? We have everything under control here."

"Because I'm her attending physician." Mark said. "And I want an MRI done right now."

Dr. Sanders was unperturbed, and called past Mark's shoulder: "Nurse, bring a chair for Dr. Sloan."

"I don't want a chair, I want this patient up on her way to radiology _now_. She fell headfirst out of her chair and..."

"I just got myself familiar with the anamnesis, and I promise you that right after I finished my examination we will take an x-ray, and that will tell us where we have to go from there."

"I _do_ know the procedures. But the patient is increasingly stiff, and an x-ray is more than limited..."

"Dr. Sloan," Sanders said in a conciliatory fashion, and laid her hand on Mark's shoulder, trying to guide him down onto the seat of the chair, "Please, there is no reason to get keyed up so much." She patted his shoulder, and spoke annoyingly gently. "Do sit down. Get some oxygen."

Mark took two deep breaths. Not because he was suffocating, but to steady his emotions.

He certainly was not a person who lost his temper easily, if at all. But being talked down to really started getting on his nerves.

And he had a bad feeling that time was running through his fingers.

"Nurse," he said, calm, but with rumbling authority, and plucked his keys from his pocket. "get my lab coat. Now."

The nurse left obediently in a hurry, but Dr. Sanders still felt to mother him. "Dr. Sloan, please." she tried to reason. "There is a reason why you still are on sick leave." She turned on the oxygen on the wall unit, and handed Mark the mask.

He ignored it, and picked up the telephone instead. He wedged the receiver in between his chin and shoulder, and stabbed a number in. While it rang he cast his colleague a withering look. "Dr. Sanders. If you are unable, or unwilling to recognize possibly life threatening conditions, I may have to talk to the board about your qualification for ER assignment. Or your qualification as a doctor in general. - Dr. Sloan," he said into the phone. "I need an MRI stat and now. Spinal injury with possible infiltration of the canal."

He got an okay, and put the phone back with as much noise as possible.

On his way back to Minnie he grabbed a syringe, an indwelling IV cannula, and a three tubes. Without paying any attention to Dr. Sanders yammerings he dropped everything on Minnie's stomach, and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry Honey. I'm gonna take you up to radiology in a minute. Now I'm gonna put a needle in your arm, so that we can inject a contrast medium."

He took the wrapper of the syringe between his teeth to tear it open, and let it heedlessly drop to the floor.

Deaf to the repeated reminders that he had only one arm he put on his glasses, and ordered Jesse sternly to stop the blood on Minnie's arm. Then he worked hand in hand with Minnie to unwrap the needle and take the cover off.

Holding the needle between his first three fingers, he felt for the vein with the tip of his ring finger. Then he used his little finger to steady his hand against Minnie's arm, and skillfully inserted the needle into the vessel.

Jesse was there with an adhesive patch, but didn't offer Mark to draw the blood samples. He was amazed how smoothly his friend and mentor worked, and saw no reason to take anything out of his hand. Neither equipment, nor control.

The nurse was back with the lab coat, and stood now timidly by Mark's side, unsure of what to do now. Would he want to put it on himself? _Could_ he put it on himself?

Mark made an impatient noise, and turned, holding his arm eloquently away from his body in a demand to be helped into the coat.

"And do something about that sleeve." he ordered, as he turned back to Minnie.

He swiftly drew the samples, while the nurse, for the lack of a safety pin, taped the empty sleeve up to his shoulder.

Her hands shook a bit, and Mark shared a look with Minnie, rolling his eyes.

She almost relaxed enough to snicker.

Mark dropped the last tube into a kidney dish, and kicked off the brake of the gurney. "Let's go!"

He gave a hearty pull, and steered towards the door, where he found his son standing.

"Steve, good you are here." he said, never missing a beat, and sure not stopping in his tracks. "Hold the lift!" he thundered, his brittle voice notwithstanding, and motioned for Steve to help Jesse push the gurney, and used the frame as support as they made their way quickest possible.

Steve didn't ask any questions, knowing that his Dad couldn't talk right now anyway.

And as they were standing in the lift, he took a firm hold of Mark's arm to hold him upright, allowing him a couple of seconds of rest.

They rushed Minnie into radiology, where it took some moments to clear the details for the scan. Steve stayed by Minnie's side, holding her hand in support.

It wrenched his heart to see that little person so obviously scared and in pain, and he wondered what had changed so much to make her condition life-threatening.

He tagged along into the imaging room, and - with the aid of more hands for stability, - carefully lifted Minnie onto the table of the magnetic scanner.

"This will take a while." Mark told Minnie, and cupped her face in his hand to give one more moment of comfort. "The contrast medium will be automatically released in your bloodstream during the process. Do you want something that will help you to relax a bit?"

"A sedative?" she spelled it out, and tensed up instantly. Despite Mark's wonderful care she felt the imperative need to be alert in a hospital.

"Nothing you don't want." he soothed her. "It's just an option. And if you change your mind," He put the end of a cable in her hand, "Just press the call button. I will be waiting right outside."

Minnie nodded stiffly.

"Okay." Mark kissed her forehead, and let Jesse put a pair of noise protectors over her ears.

They all filed out, and Mark took Steve along into the survey room, where the radiologist started the scan.

Mark was annoyed that his knees felt like rubber, and dropped heavily down on a chair.

"Dr. Sloan, I had no idea you returned to work."

Mark just shrugged a shoulder in reply, saving his breath.

"To me it looks like you should better be on the receiving end of medical attention." the radiologist pointed out.

"My Dad is very well able to make his own decisions." Steve snapped, and laid his hand on Mark's shoulder. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Mark nodded with a grateful little smile, and brought his chair in position to be able to see the screen where the images built up.

Steve returned with a cup of water, and another moment later Jesse came in, wheeling a mobile oxygen unit.

Mark drank, and did nothing to escape the oxygen tongs.

He closed his eyes for a minute, concentrating on his breathing, and then directed his attention back to the monitor.

"Steve," he said, "I'm gonna need some rest, soon. And as long as I can't be with Minnie, I want you to stick to her side and make sure my orders are being followed, and that she gets best care."

Steve nodded his assent in a way that disburdened Mark from any explanation.

He nodded appreciatively, and gave his son's arm a pat.

Another while elapsed in silence, aside from the gurgling hiss of the oxygen apparatus, until the door swung open without being knocked first.

"Dr. Sloan. I hear you are liberally using the most expensive imaging method we have, and that without even checking for the patient's health insurance."

Mark sighed. "Mrs. Olivera. Nice to see you too."

Nerea Olivera worked in the accounts department, and constantly hassled over Mark's - sometimes maybe not so very profit-oriented - way of doing his work. Though he had to say that she could be almost called tentative this time. Usually she bore down a lot harder, using the bulk of her body to literally throw her weight around.

Mark wriggled his fingers for her clipboard, and held it down with his stump as he scrawled his illegible signature on the dotted line. "All bills go to me." he said. "And no word to the patient."

Mrs. Olivera took the clip board back with a surprised expression. "Thank you. - Uh, good to see you back, Dr. Sloan."

**

* * *

**

Minnie lay inside the narrow tunnel of the machine, which clanged and knocked around her.

She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying to think herself away, out of this breathtakingly cramped place, to somewhere open and wide. Like the beach for instance. Maybe in Malibu.

But not even the pleasant thought of being there at that beach with Steve let her relax.

She was utterly miserable. Her head throbbed, her stomach was queasy, and she felt an unpleasant cold sweat on her forehead.

And also it became a strain to lay still, because her body started to shake.

She wanted nothing more than to get out of this machine, and her thumb kept twitching towards the button in her hand.

But Minnie told herself sternly to get a grip on herself, and get this business over with.

Can't be all that hard to lie still for a half hour.

She had no intention to embarrass Mark by being sissy. Especially not after he had had to fight so hard to get her here.

Trying to will her body to calm down and relax, she took a deep breath. But the air caught in her throat when a blinding pain exploded in her head with such sickening force that she gagged.

"Please don't move." A voice said over a speaker in the noise protector, and it barely registered with Minnie, because her ears rang like after a terribly loud bang. Her teeth started to click, and the shaking of her body became uncontrollable.

She knew this was something bad, but it was an incredible effort to make her thumb respond and press the button. Twice.

"Something's wrong there!" Mark said, and looked around. "Where is the emergency stop?"

The radiologist hit a switch, and all four men bolted into the next room.

"What's wrong Minnie?"

It didn't put Mark at ease at all when he got no response.

The radiologist released the table, and pulled it manually out.

Mark felt Minnie's forehead, then her pulse. "You have a headache?"

Minnie could barely nod.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You fractured your spine, and the swelling stopped your liquor."

"I'm gonna book an operating room." Jesse said, and headed back to the survey room.

"Honey, I'm sorry. But we have to operate."

Minnie was shaking like a leaf, and her face contorted with a new surge of raging pain. The pulse Mark was feeling was rapid, unsteady and thready.

"Jesse," Mark called, but his voice wouldn't carry. So he told the radiologist that Minnie was tachycard, with arterial flutter, to relay the information.

On the table the shaking died away, and Minnie's eyes rolled up in her head.

**

* * *

**

Steve was amazed. He had seen his Dad today. The Dad he had known all his life, and who he thought was gone, along with the arm.

It had been his main concern during the last months, that Dr. Mark Sloan was gone.

His Dad had turned into just Mark Sloan, a person with a disability.

And today Steve had seen that his Dad hadn't changed a bit. He still was Doctor Sloan, albeit the doctor with a disability.

And it had infuriated Steve immensely to see how Dr. Sanders had tried to patronize his Dad.

And it infuriated him even more, that her squabbling might have easily cost Minnie her life.

Goodness. First he had thought Minnie had maybe taken another fall at home. But it seemed that the spine had been fractured in the original accident.

Man, that was two days ago! What kind of a tough little cookie is that girl! To go on two days on a broken spine.

He reached Trancas, and pulled into the left turn lane at the traffic light.

While he waited at the red light, he drummed an impatient rhythm on his steering wheel. He knew his Dad couldn't go on for very long anymore, and wanted to be back quick, to relieve him.

The light turned green, and he jackrabbited into Broad Beach Road, and down the drive way into their yard.

He hurried around the house and entered his bedroom from the beach. Grabbed one of his sports bags, tossed in his electric shaver, and went up the winding stair to his Dad's floor, taking two steps at once.

From his Dad's room he got a pajama, gown, slippers, and toiletry, and because he had no idea about the differences he packed all the stump socks. Then headed for Minnie's room. Her clothes were still in the tall carryall, and Steve couldn't help but wonder how this tiny person could handle it. Especially in a wheelchair.

He zipped the bag open, and had to smile. Among only a handful of clothes lay some thirty CDs, all in their cases.

Without going greatly into it, he made out a Meatloaf CD, one of Cher, Fred Astaire, a Star Trek soundtrack, and, to his pleasant surprise, Neil Diamond.

And as diversified Minnie's preferences in music seemed to be, as homogenous was her clothing style. There was one stack of short sleeved turtleneck jerseys, most of them white, one gray, one Light blue, and one stack of long sleeved turtleneck jerseys. Two white, one gray. And only two more pair of pants. A pair of Blue Jeans, and, the only thing colorful, a pair of pants of the same little gingham checks like the little blouse Minnie looked so cute in.

Along the side of the bag he found what he was looking for. A handful of individually wrapped catheters.

He put some into his bag, added the wash bag, and then put the cute little pajama on top.

To his surprise he couldn't find any CD player.

He thought of looking into the backpack, but didn't really wanted to snoop around. Minnie had no idea he was even here.

He checked his watch. She should be out of the operating room soon, so he better get going.

As an afterthought he packed the novel, and hurried into the living room to pick up the prosthesis.

He felt remotely weird stuffing his Dad's arm into his bag, but didn't really dwell on that thought. He just wanted to get back and see that his Dad could get some rest.

He closed the bag, automatically switched on the answering machine on his way out, and hurried back to his car.

**

* * *

**

Jesse snapped off his surgical gloves. "Okay Mark, she's gonna be okay. Now I want you to go back to radiology, and get your chest checked out. You sound like you're building up a new edema."

Mark took off his cap, and dropped it in the receptacle. "I have to stay." he wheezed, unable to bring out more words as explanation.

He had insisted on coming into the operating room, despite everybody's arguing that the patient was already under anesthesia, and wouldn't know it anyway.

And no matter how much he trusted Jesse, he just felt he _had_ to be in there, just like he had promised.

He had sat on a stool, and stroked Minnie's hand, and yet he felt as if he had performed the surgery.

Well, actually this had been a microvasive procedure, and only taken half an hour. What Mark felt in his bones was more like a twelve hour heart transplant.

He sighed, and glanced at the clock.

Steve should be back soon.

But until then he would stick to his promise.

He turned around. "Give me a hand with this mask."

Jesse reached up and untied the surgical mask. "Mark. She is in recovery now. What do you think could happen to her there? She is being closely monitored, and she will drowse through the rest of the day anyway. If you don't get rest now, or even treatment, you just gonna collapse. And what good would that be?"

"I'm gonna collapse if I keep having to say the same things over and over again until I'm blue in the face."

Jesse opened his locker, and picked his stethoscope from the pocket of his lab coat. "Sit down, will ya? Let me at least give you a check."

Mark sighed. He didn't sit down, but his stance indicated that he would allow a short check, provided his young friend was quick enough to conduct it.

Jesse plugged the stethoscope into his ears, and slipped the chest piece under the blue scrubs.

"Take a deep breath for me, okay?"

Mark did his best, and knew that Jesse heard the tell tale burble.

"Cough please."

Mark obliged, as Jesse slid the stethoscope around on his back, listening intently how advanced the problem was.

"Well Mark, you can book yourself a room right next to Miss Doorn. You aren't going anywhere tonight. And wherever you want to go now," He slung the stethoscope around his neck, "the oxygen will go with you."

He told a nurse to bring another mobile unit, and Mark didn't protest when Jesse put on a face mask, instead of the little tongs under his nose. The amount of oxygen was greater under a mask, and he needed it.

He took some breaths, trying to gather enough strength so that he could walk steadily. But on his way to the recovery room he found himself staggering along, and using the oxygen cart as support.

The short way seemed unbearably long to him.

When he finally entered the room, he saw that Minnie's bed was even at the far side. A nurse was standing by her side, talking to her in a friendly, but authoritative way.

"Miss Doorn, you have to calm down. Take deep and even breaths."

Minnie was lying in her bed, a bunch of blanket clutched before her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear, and even at this distance Mark could hear the rapid little gasps she was breathing.

"Calm down." the nurse exhorted. "You have to lie still. This shaking is gonna hurt your back." She held up a syringe she had filled before. "I'm gonna inject you now with something that will help you to relax."

No! Mark wanted to shout, but walking and breathing was enough for him to handle.

He saw Minnie shying away from the syringe, her breathing now just a panicked little flutter of her chest.

The nurse tried to hold her down and keep from moving with one hand, and emptied the syringe into the port in Minnie's arm with the other.

She had just snapped the cap back on the port, when Mark reached her. He took hold of her upper arm, and spun her around to face him.

"Dr. Sloan," she said, still in full nurse-mode. "my goodness! You need to sit down!"

Mark held her firmly, and waited until he had the wind to speak.

"What - part - didn't you - catch in '_Nobody's_ - to touch - this patient before _I_ - Say so.'?"

"But Dr. Sloan, she was hyperventilating and..."

"Cause - and effect." Mark said as sharply as possible. And since he wouldn't be able to really give her a piece of his mind, he turned to Minnie.

The spasmodic shaking of her body had ceased, but her head still trembled, her breathing was far from easy, and silent tears were coming from her wide, frightened eyes.

The sight almost tore his heart out. He laid his hand on her head, and gently caressed her forehead with his thumb.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, and was glad to feel her relax a bit.

But her tears kept rolling.

**

* * *

**

"Hey Steve." Jesse called, and sped up to match the Lieutenant's long strides.

"Jesse, what's it?"

"Gotta tell you. I'm really worried about Mark."

"Me too." Steve said, and hit the button for the lift. "That's why I'm in a rush."

"Listen, if your Dad refuses to be treated for much longer, he will be right back where he was a couple weeks ago. Would be nice if you could talk some sense into him, and see that he lies down flat. And that in a hospital bed."

They stepped into the lift. "I brought an overnight bag for him." Steve said.

"Good. You think you can make him stay?"

"Jesse you heard him. He called me in to take over for him."

"Yeah hey, what's wrong with him anyway? Why is he acting so irrational on this?"

Steve turned half, so that Jesse could get a good view on his threatening stance. "My Dad is not acting irrational. I don't know what happened this morning, but I'm sure he has his reasons. If he thinks Minnie needs special care, then we better make sure she gets it."

The lift doors opened with a _pling, _and Steve dashed out, knowing full well that his short friend had to scramble to keep up.

"He doesn't trust the staff in his own hospital?"

"Jesse, I said I have no idea what's going on." Steve said, in a patient fashion to make up for making Jesse run.

"And where do you know that girl from anyway?"

"I found her." Steve said, and entered the dim recovery room.

The nurse rose from her desk to keep him out, but Jesse gestured that this was okay.

Steve's heart sank when he saw his Dad sitting hunched over, and made a bee line to his side.

"Dad," He laid his hand on his back, and stooped to look at him. "how are you?"

Mark made a dismissive gesture.

Steve looked up again, and was dismayed that Minnie barely reacted to his presence. No bright smile, no excitement. Just tears running from dull eyes, down the side of her face and into big wet stains on her pillow. The only indication that she wasn't completely absent was her hand, lying on Mark's, rubbing little circles.

Steve sucked his lips. Giving comfort just wasn't his strong side.

So he took action.

"It's okay Dad. I'm here now, and I have the rest of the day off. You can go now with Jesse, and let him have a look at you. You look terrible."

"Steve is right, Mark." Jesse said in a light way that was meant to obscure his intention to conduct examinations, and afterwards admit him to the hospital. "Look, you've done enough for one day. You brought her in, made sure she was treated quickly, and you stayed with her all through the surgery. I'm sure your Miss Minnie appreciates all that, and I'm sure she wouldn't want to see you harmed."

"I haven't done _nearly_ enough." Mark groused, his voice hollow under the mask.

"Come on Mark. We have to bring her now to her room anyway. It will take some time anyway until she is settled in."

Mark looked up. "I can't do that."

"You can't do what?" Steve prompted.

"Can't leave her here in hospital."

"What do you mean?" Jesse wondered. "That girl has a fractured vertebra and spinal cord injury. There is no place she should be, except in a hospital."

Mark sat up more straight. "I'm a doctor too, and I'm well able to assess the situation."

"Sorry Mark. I didn't mean to patronize you. But frankly, I can't authorize her being transported. And besides, where would you want to take her?"

"I'm gonna take her home with me." Mark stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh no you don't." Steve said. "Look Dad, you have to..."

Mark held up his hand.

The gesture bore so much authority that his son fell obediently silent, but also the sudden loss of contact made Minnie's breath quicken in growing panic.

The relaxants in her system prevented that she tensed up, but it was clearly visible that she was frightened to death.

"Shh Honey." Mark soothed her. He cupped her head in his hand, brushing his thumb over her forehead. "Don't worry, I'm still here."

He took her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Minnie calmed down again, but she still wept silently.

Mark turned around again. "You boys listen," he said, deliberately using his paternal authority, "because I don't have the wind to say it twice. Minnie's had terribly bad experiences with doctors. Her paralysis is iatrogenic. And there was a lot more. Enough to make her post traumatic." He indicated her pitiable state with a little nod of his head. "She is not safe here. You saw how it frightened her when I mentioned sedation. And before I was back with her here, she got sedated. Against her will, and overdosed too. She can't stay here." he stated firmly. "Now Jesse. You take me for an x-ray. Steve, you see that we have nurses for the coming time, day and night. And you stick to Minnie's side while I'm gone. And she needs a back brace before we move her." He made a feeble gesture with his stump. "Find out what she needs, and who of you takes care of that." he managed to bring out, before he slowly began to sink sidewards, his chest heaving in unmet demand for oxygen.

Steve caught him safely against his body, holding him steady and upright. "Don't worry Dad. I'm gonna see to it all."

Jesse brought a wheelchair, and taking him under both arms, Steve lifted his Dad into it. "Just you see you get better now."

Jesse pushed him out, handling both the chair and the oxygen cart, and Steve sat down on the edge of the bed.

Uh. What now? This girl was disconsolate. And he was as good for giving comfort, as a drill sergeant would be for yoga classes.

He leaned forwards, and awkwardly laid his hand on Minnie's head, just like he had seen his Dad doing it, using his thumb to gently stroke her forehead.

And to his greatest surprise the slight trembling ceased almost instantly. And as he continued his tender ministration with just a little more confidence, Minnie's tears slowly ebbed away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Super Human 7**

**Author's note:** the liquor that got stopped in Minnie's back is the brain fluid that envelopes the brain and spinal cord.

The slightest imbalance will make you really sick.

Also you will notice I had to make a couple of adjustments. The couch in Mark's living room is suddenly L-shaped. But that was necessary, so that Minnie can sit there comfortably, with her legs up.

Another adjustment is that the whole top floor of the Beach House is even. There are no steps down to the kitchen, so that Minnie can get easily around.

Another thing is that I have to take the story back in time. It takes place in late summer 2003, almost a year after Carol had been killed. But the thing with Ellen from the last movie has never happened. Going by air date, Carol would have died in February. But I decided to let Steve's birthday be in November. (Murder Can Be Contagious was aired in September, and Steve says it's still two months to his birthday in that episode.)

I know, everybody likes Steve a bit younger, but to me it makes more sense to let him be Barry's age, because there were repeated remarks about Steve been to Vietnam all throughout the show.

So, in this story he was born in November 1951.

Sorry for the hassle, but Minnie's age, and the ages of her children need some tweaking too. Minnie is thirty-four. That gives enough space between hers and Steve's age, and also bring her far enough away from the first estimated early twenties. Mette, her daughter is fifteen years old, and Jonte, her son, eleven.

I hope I have now taken everything into consideration.

* * *

**-Super Human 7 -**

Minnie woke up to a bright and sunny day, and first thought she must have had a bad dream.

But then again, who could have bad dreams in a wonderful place like this?

Also, the hard shell that encased her upper body easily served as a hint that it hadn't been a dream, as well as the nurse, who was sitting by her bedside.

"Good morning." the woman said brightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh, fine."

"My name is Elizabeth, and I'm gonna be your care giver today."

Minnie's brows went up, and she tucked her chin as far back as possible. "What care would you want to give me?"

"Whatever you need." Elizabeth told her. "From your personal hygiene, to getting dressed, and of course you have to be moved regularly, so you won't develop bed sores."

Minnie drew the covers up under her chin. "Ah, ya, fine. Nothing there I don't do alone myself just me."

Elizabeth stood up. "Maybe you should have a word with Dr. Sloan."

She left the door ajar, and after a minute Mark came in.

Her face fell when she saw that he was leaning on a cane, and that his face was almost ashen.

"My God, what happened?"

He gave her a smile, but it hurt her deeply to see how strained it looked, compared to yesterday. "Just a little recidivism." he said dismissively. He leaned his cane against the night case, sat down on the edge of the bed, and took her hand in his. "How are you today?"

"Orful." Minnie peeped meekly. "Look how much trouble I am."

"No not even a little bit of it." Mark assured her, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"But you got a _nurse_ for me. Really. I'm costing you an arm and a leg, and you are short of limbs anyway." she whined.

Mark chuckled. "Well, it's for a good cause."

"See? If this weren't such a wonderful place I'd say I wish Steve had never brought me here."

"If Steve hadn't brought you here," Mark said earnestly, "I don't think you would have survived."

Minnie's brows crawled up again. "Like, really?"

"Like really. Your accident caused a bleeding into your spinal canal, which obstructed the circulation of the liquor, and subsequently let your intracranial pressure rise."

She sucked her lips. "Oy."

"Oy indeed. We had to surgically remove the blood clot."

"You opened my spine?"

"Well, it was a microvasive procedure."

Minnie sucked her lips again.

"What is it?" Mark prompted her gently.

She shrugged. "Eww. Things have that nasty way of getting inflamed in my weird body."

"All the more reason that you take it easy for a couple of days, and let your nurse help you with your daily routine."

"_My_ nurse?" Minnie squawked dismayed, "As in 'additional to what _you_ have'?"

He chuckled softly, and rub-squeezed her arm. "Afraid I'd be no good helping you myself." he said, and wriggled his culpable stump.

"Why not? I mean I do everything all alone. I'm sure we could manage..."

Something in Mark's look made her fall silent.

He took her hand again, and gently rubbed it with his thumb. "Honey, the level of your injury is T9."

Minnie's brows crawled up again, and she scratched her forehead. "You said I had some blood in my spinal canal?"

"Yes." Mark confirmed gravely. "Enough to bruise your cord."

"Oy."

"As it is, you couldn't even sit up on your own. Not with that back brace anyway. You haven't got enough stomach muscle activity."

Minnie tried to, and found that she couldn't move an inch.

"Oy."

She tweaked her thigh, couldn't feel it, and tried to wriggle her toes.

Mark brushed his fingers over her cheek. "I'm terribly sorry Honey, but the paralysis is almost complete. There's only very little signal coming through beyond the lesion."

Minnie took his hand. "Now don't you worry. This isn't all that much of a big change. I will learn to sit up when I'm rid of this casing. And also, if the cord was just bruised, this is most likely to get better again."

"Yes. To an extent. Hopefully. And to be sure we get the max, I hired a physical therapist to work with you."

Minnie drew in a gasp. "_Hired_? As in 'throwing money out of the window'? Mark, really! You can't do that!" Her face wrinkled up, and she shrank back into her pillow. "Just stick me back in hospital if I need that much hassle."

He cupped her face in his hand, and said in gentle earnest: "I certainly won't do that."

"But I don't have the means to give you any money back." she squirmed.

"And I wouldn't take any of it."

"But if you put me back in hospital, neither of us has to pay. I'll get it back from my health insurance company."

Mark tried a different approach. "And spoil all my shrewd planning?"

Minnie's brows went up, and her chin all the way back.

He smiled. "Honey, I'm sorry, but I have every intention to be totally selfish on this, and to unblushingly take advantage of you."

Her expression remained the same unenlightened.

"It's good to have you here. My son hasn't been so much at ease around me in a very long time. In way too long a time. And without you, I wouldn't know what to to." He kissed her forehead. "Please Minnie. Steve is all that's left of my family. And I'm not growing any younger. I don't want to waste any more precious time."

Minnie knew he wasn't making this up, to put her at ease. She saw a pain in his eyes that went way beyond a disturbed father-son relation.

Her heart went out for him, and she wanted to take him in her arms. Somehow make things better for him.

But she was stuck like a bug on its back.

So she just took his hand and rubbed his arm with great affection.

He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." he said pleased. "It's a bit late. Do you want to have your breakfast before Elizabeth gets you ready?"

Minnie made a dismissive gesture. "She can go ahead. I don't need any breakfast."

Mark dipped his chin down and gave her a look like over the rims of his glasses. He picked up his cane, reached past the night case with it, and pulled an infusion stand into view.

"Saline, and nutrients." he said, tapping his cane at the bags.

"Hm?" Minnie made puzzled, and lifted her arms to look for an IV port.

Mark tapped the right side of her neck. "You have a central line here in your jugular vein."

"A central line?" she repeated, and felt for it herself. "Ain't them for totally ill people?"

"Yes they are. Especially for such ill people into which we have to infuse such great volumes of fluids, to keep their organs from failing, that the peripheral vessels couldn't handle the sheer amount."

She shrank into her pillow, and sucked her lips again. "Oy."

He rubbed her hand with his thumb. "You wanna tell me what your weight was, before you left Germany?"

"Uh, something like fifty. But that was in spring."

Mark sighed.

"I'm talking kilograms here." she added hastily. "Not pounds."

Mark sighed again. "Your weight is down to thirty-nine. Kilograms."

Minnie took hold of the covers, and pulled them all the way up to her eyes, which were big under elevated brows.

"Oy."

Mark chuckled softly, patted her thigh, and struggled up to his feet. "You want your breakfast in bed, or rather outside on the deck?"

Her face brightened instantly. "Am I allowed out of bed?"

"Sure Honey. You shouldn't use your chair for any great lengths of time, but you certainly can lie on the couch, or on a lounger in the backyard. Your back is okay. The fracture is no problem. It's just a little crack in one vertebra. And with the brace you can move pretty freely. - You want milk again?"

"Oh yes please."

"And toast, or maybe cereals? Or would you like pancakes? Or eggs?"

"Uh, toast will be all fine."

"Good." He shuffled towards the door. "I'm gonna send Elizabeth in to help you into your chair."

Minnie followed him with a sad gaze, wondering how his condition could have worsened so fast, so dramatically.

**

* * *

**

Elizabeth had let Minnie brush her teeth, and then agreed to her pulling her wheels herself, instead of being pushed out on the deck. The nurse only followed with the drips.

Minnie carefully steered the wide chair through the narrow door, and looked around, not too successful in hiding her disappointment.

"Is Steve not here?"

"No sorry Honey. He already left an hour ago." Mark didn't stand up, but he did seat her with his hand on her back. "Sometimes he just can't get around attending his job."

"Yes of course." she said, and sat up more straight with utter pride. "You know, he is a _cop_!"

Mark tee-hee-ed delighted. "Yes, I've heard rumors about that."

He folded his news papers, and put a slice of bread in the toaster. "He asks what rental your car is from. He wants to return it, so that you don't have to pay for it when you don't need it anyway."

"Uh," Minnie made indifferently, "that certainly is sweet." She scratched her forehead. "But actually I totally depend on it. I mean, I won't have to stay in bed for a very long time, will I?" She tucked her chin back when last day's call came back to her mind. "Hmm, come to think of it, there is no reason to stay any longer. My chair is gone. I don't have to wait for repair or anything." She lowered her head, knowing that her eyes would advertise her disappointment. "No reason to stay."

Mark reached over and gave her knee a reassuring pat. "Well Honey, you just had spinal surgery. I can't authorize a long distance flight for at least a week. Better two. Depending on the healing process." He took her hand. "I would really like to see that you recover fully, before you go back."

Mark smiled to himself, because Minnie actually slumped a bit in relief. But she seemed so intent on not admitting to it, that he better granted her some unpercievedness, and drank from his coffee.

The toast popped out, and he laid it on Minnie's plate.

"So where did you get that car from?"

"Oh. All the way out in San Clemente." she said, spreading butter on the crisp bread.

His brows crawled up. "You go that far for a crappy car?"

"Ya well, too bad one can't really rent crappy cars. But my sister knows folks down in San Diego, where she used to be an Au-Pair for some months. And them folks know folks in San Clemente who rent out cars, and happened to have that old Toyota in the backyard."

"They are acquaints, and they still let you pay for it?" Mark said in disbelief. "Even when you had to cancel your room and live in that car instead for God knows how long?"

"Well they aren't really acquaints." Minnie clarified, while she scanned the variety of spreads. "I don't even know the Au-Pair family. I'm just another customer, who only happened to get a good deal."

"Well to me it seems there is room for doubt on that one." Mark muttered.

"Not much. Because of course I pay for what I rent." she stated as a fact, and took a bite of toast.

"Honey," he said dismayed. "Nothing here that suits your taste?"

"Yea. No. Don't worry. I really like toast with just butter."

"No cream cheese? No jelly? Not even peanut butter?"

Minnie's subconscious took over, and let her wrinkle up her nose in disgust.

"And the cold cuts?"

She shook her head. "No really. I like my breakfast sweet."

"Butter isn't very sweet."

"But tasty anyway. Please don't worry. I'm all fine."

Mark left it at that, and watched her nibble her toast for some moments.

At that rate, he worried inwardly, it might easily take _months _to put the required twenty pounds on her.

Well, if she can stay that long, fine with him.

He leaned back with a pleased smile. "You should call your family today."

"Mm, yeah. Maybe. Is there a pay phone nearby?"

He rolled his eyes with an indulgent chuckle.

"No really!" Minnie insisted aghast. "You have any idea how expensive long distance calls are? I can't possibly..."

Mark leaned over, and gently laid his hand on her arm to soothe and silence her.

"Honey, can we agree that it will take some years of nurse service, and a lot of long distance calls, before my money runs out?" He took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "You are my guest. And as my guest of course you can use my phone."

She sucked her lips, embarrassed that she had made him spell out his hospitableness.

"Mi casa es su casa." Mark said gently, and gave her hand another squeeze. "Take a break, Honey. You don't have to worry about money while you are in my house, okay? This is your vacation, and I want you to enjoy it with no cares at all."

Minnie looked down at her small white hand in his big, tanned one.

The touch felt incredibly good.

And it felt incredibly good to not be scared.

In the opposite. For the first time she felt safe.

She was well aware that she only knew these two men for only two days. But it just didn't feel like that.

She breathed a sigh. The only bad thing about this all was, that she would have to leave. Only too soon.

She pulled out from under the table and wheeled the stride over to Mark. With another sigh she leaned against his chest, tucking her arms in between them for comfort.

Mark smiled. He closed his arms around her, and dropped a kiss on her head.

And it felt incredibly good to know that she wasn't grossed out by being touched with his stump.

**

* * *

**

Steve was sitting at his desk, his ankle up on his knee, and the keyboard across his lap. With his eyes on the screen he typed in rows and rows of endless data, when the door opened after a sharp knock.

"Sloan?"

Steve looked up and set his foot down. "Chief."

The tall superior with the receding hairline came in, and sat down on one of the visitors chairs before Steve could invite him to.

For a moment he just sat, and let his cool stare rest on the detective, knowing it would make him sweat. - If only just a bit.

Then he asked: "How is Mark?"

"Better." Steve laid the keyboard on his desk, and put his ankle up again in a display of self-confidence. "I took him back home yesterday."

"And you don't want to stay with him?"

Steve made a dismissive gesture. "We have the house full of nurses and household helps." And a cute little thing that had come in like a missing link he thought, and cast a look into his mug, in which the contents had gone visibly stale.

"Coffee?" he asked and stood up, knowing that his offer would be declined.

Chief Masters never ate in the presence of his subordinates, and only under very rare circumstances would condescend to have a possibly sociable cup of coffee.

Which was so today. "Yes. Thanks. Black."

Steve reached for a second mug, and turned his broad back towards the chief, to make sure he wouldn't catch a glimpse of his raised eyebrows.

Even though he felt like sweet today he left the sugar out of his coffee too. He set one cup on the table, and sat down again with the other, and again put his ankle up on his knee.

Masters picked up his cup. "Is that likely to happen again?" he asked, expecting the detective to figure out he was referring to yesterday's unexpected crisis.

Steve shrugged. "Dad is going on eighty. At his age he doesn't heal easily anymore." he repeated what Jesse had told him. "Especially pneumonia can be trouble in more than just one way."

Masters nodded. He took a swig of coffee and leaned back, putting his foot up like Steve, without losing any of his impeccable posture.

Holding his chin up high he watched the detective over the rims of his slim glasses, surprised to find him a lot more at ease than three days ago. He certainly had expected the opposite.

Lieutenant Sloan was a tough man, with only one soft spot: his father.

So it hadn't come as a surprise that he had run around like a zombie for the past months, barely able to concentrate on anything. But it sure was a surprise that he was so relaxed today.

"I'm gonna need an answer soon."

Steve sighed and set his mug down on the desk.

His Dad wanted to go back to work. And even if he couldn't, Steve had a feeling that he wasn't half as much needed at home as he had expected.

On the other hand, he had been lying awake for quite a while last night, and discovered a lot of new thoughts and ideas.

Maybe it was time for a change. Even if he wasn't able to find a girl, and start his own family, there was no reason not to have a family life. His Dad wouldn't be around indefinitely. So why not spend more time with him now, instead of mourning all the things they hadn't done, when it was too late.

The chief took another swig, and looked squarely at Steve. "Sloan, you are the best horse in my barn, and I don't like to lose you. But," He lowered his chin a bit, to intensify his stare. "there will be a time when I will need a successor. And until then you have to have made it to commander. - So. I want you to take the rest of the day off. And unless you come up with a reason why you shouldn't, until ten tonight, I want you to report tomorrow morning in Malibu. Johnson had to take his boy back to hospital, and asked for leave. You will be interim captain for the remaining month. Two months if you need more time. But then I want an answer." He stood up and set his cup on the table. "Thanks for the coffee, Detective." And on his way out he added: "My regards to Mark."

Steve sat stunned, and watched how the shaking blind on the door came slowly to a rest again.

**

* * *

**

"How do you mean, just a basic model?"

"Miss Doorn's wheelchair was a lightweight sports model. But of course we cannot provide extravagances like that, after the chair was negligently damaged."

"Extravagances?" Mark flared up. "You call a wheelchair an _extravagance_?"

"I call a lightweight sports chair an extravagance." the insurance manager on the other side of the telephone line said unperturbed. "One we are under no obligation to provide. But to show our goodwill, we would allow a standard chair, so that she will be able to get around. But if Miss Doorn wants to have another sports chair, I suggest that she sues the owner of the faulty ramp for it."

"Miss Doorn doesn't want to sue, because A, she cannot afford to pay for that in advance, and B, she fears that she will lose the case, and end up saddled with more debt."

"Well," the manager said lightly, "maybe she shouldn't have admitted so freely that she wasn't looking where she was going."

Mark was furious, and his white mustache bristled. "I wonder how you can still sleep at nights."

"I sleep very well, Dr. Sloan. We aren't the welfare. We are proceeding within certain guidelines and rules. And a basic standard chair is all we can do for Miss Doorn."

"Thank you very much." Mark said stiffly, and disconnected the call.

Unbelievable! he thought annoyed.

After a moment to calm down a bit he picked up the calling card, and called his medical supply shop.

"Dr. Sloan here. I have a question you might be able to help me answer. What is the difference between a basic standard wheelchair, and a sports wheelchair?"

"Well, A standard wheelchair is just that. A standard wheelchair. It's made to fit the largest possible number of people, with the widest possible range of disabilities. A sports chair is custom built for its user and purpose."

"Why would a standard chair be so much harder to move than a sports chair?"

"Just simply by the position the user assumes. In a sports chair you sit upright, the knees slightly higher than the derrière, the knees snug together, and the feet straight down, or even better, slightly tucked back. In a standard chair the user almost always automatically slouches, and the whole position more like in a recliner. The wheels are usually attached to an extension of the backrest, which means the user has to reach back, which usually gets impeded by a wide and high backrest. On a sports chair the backrest is as low as possible, which depends on the disability of the user. But they very rarely come higher than the lumbar spine. The axle is aligned with the user's center of gravity. Like that you sit between your wheels, instead of before them. Like that you can transmit a lot more power, and can steer a lot more precise. And lastly, sports chairs are rigid. That makes them track adherent and nimble. - Drive your car without power steering and brake assist, and you will know what I mean."

"I see." Mark said, and thought for a moment. "Say, if I were to buy a sports chair, what would you recommend?"

"Right here on the phone, nothing. Depends on what sport you need it for, what your disability is, and also how much money you want to put into it. The prices differ by a couple of thousand Dollars."

"I see. - Here is another thing you could help me with. You had a German sports chair for repair."

"Yes, but I'm afraid it is beyond repair."

"Yes I know. That's why I need a new one."

"So the chair isn't for you?"

"No. It's for said German girl."

"Are you planning this to be a surprise?"

Mark smiled. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Forget it. A wheelchair is no neck lace. There are dozens of choices that have to be made. Starts with the seat sling, upholstery for the backrest, material of the side guards, spokes, tubular footrest or flat, side guards on the footplate or no, frame inset or no, micro casters or polyurethane, hand rims, treads, push handles, camber, and, and, and. And this doesn't even include the angles of the seat, the knees, nor the wheel base."

Mark sat with his brows up in stunned amazement, and said laconically: "I see."

"I really would advise you to to let her select her chair herself. And if you need advice, just call us, or drop in."

Hmm, this seemed to be trickier than expected.

But well, not that he would mind solving a problem.

His mind seemed to need some dusting anyway.

He thanked for the help, and put the phone back.

**

* * *

**

Minnie came back out onto the deck, where Mark was sitting at the table, breathing slowly into a respiratory therapy appliance, where a little plastic ball hung suspended in the air stream.

He put it down on the table. "Honey, how was the therapy?"

"Well, not that I was allowed to do anything." she replied. "He just moved and mobilized me."

Mark patted her knee. "You gonna be active in your therapy soon enough. But first we have to see that your spine heals, and that your general state improves."

"Ya but I'm not really ill. I just didn't drink enough, and that let me keel over."

"Afraid it's more complicated than that. - Honey, you want to tell me how you got into this bad shape?"

Minnie drew back in surprise. "I'm not in bad shape, and I didn't get into it."

Mark took her hand to soothe her. "You said things have been a bit stressful lately?"

She shrugged. "Hm ya well, maybe a leetle bit."

"Stressful in what way?"

She shrugged again. "Well, I had to win this trip." she said, like this should be obvious to everybody.

Which it wasn't. At least not to Mark, so he prompted her to go on.

"It was a weird thing." Minnie elaborated. "Every hour they gave a code number after the news. And who had most of them was the winner."

Mark inclined his head. "A whole day?"

She tucked her chin back. "A whole month."

"Honey, just to get this straight. You say you collected hourly codes for a month?"

"Well yes I _had_ to, hadn't I?"

"Forgive me for being dense, but are we talking _every_ hour here? I mean 24/7?"

"Yeah." Minnie said warily, a bit unclear about Mark's fascination with that point.

"Honey, when did you sleep?"

"Between the codes." she said, stating the obvious.

"A whole _month_?"

"It would have made no sense if I had done it only for a half month." she pointed out.

Mark leaned forwards, letting out a lot of breath, and taking Minnie's hand in his. "No, that wouldn't have made any sense." he agreed gently. "But at least I know now how you could get into such a poor state of health."

"But I'm fine," she assured him. "Please don't worry."

Mark leaned another bit forwards, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Okay. - But if you don't mind me asking: you went to such lengths for a weekend trip?"

"Ya no of course not. I meant to win the ten thousand Euros. But too bad, there was a company that worked around the clock, and had the staff on shift collect the codes. I'm afraid I was lazy and slept through a couple of them. So I made only second place."

She breathed a little sigh, and looked around. "But I'm glad I didn't win."

Mark lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Yes Honey, I am too."

They sat for a moment in mutual silence, each holding on to the hand of the other, deriving a pleasant sense of comfort from the touch.

"Say Minnie, I'm wondering. Are your children in good care?"

"Well yes. I mean I couldn't go gallivanting off, while my children are in some dreary place."

Mark chuckled. "And I wouldn't have thought so. But can their stay be extended? - I mean, you had to face a prolonged stay anyway, if your chair could have been repaired."

"Yes." she confirmed. "But that would have been some kind of emergency. My children are staying with my sister, and I would hate to burden her any longer than necessary with them?"

"Are they troublesome?" he wondered, unable to believe that.

"No I think my children are pretty okay. But my sister is terribly occupied. You know, they are running their own business. She has to get up all early in the morning, and then works pretty much straight into the evening. You know, they are planning to expand their business, and open another shop."

"And the children?"

"Oh. Mother-in-law is herding them. You know, sister has two little ones too. Really little ones. Her boy is just two years old. Well, her daughter isn't all that little. She's five."

Mark rubbed the back of her hand. "So actually you aren't burdening your sister at all."

Minnie pondered that thought for a moment. "Hmm, well. Maybe not during day time. But still, Eske has to get now _four_ children ready in the morning."

"Honey, your daughter is fifteen. Does your sister really have to get her ready in the morning?"

"Ya no of course not. She's really very independent. You know, she actually is the little ones' babysitter for evenings when mother-in-law won't come."

"So, to me it seems that your sister is getting more assistance out of the stay, than additional work."

Minnie's brows went up, as she was pondering this some more.

"Did she tell you it's getting too much for her?"

"Oh no she would never." she assured him. "Eske is just wonderful. When she heard about this trip there was no question that she would take the children."

"So why are you thinking it's too much for her?"

"Well, she wasn't exactly _eager_ to take them. You know, it was just _obvious_ that it would mean an additional hassle."

Mark sighed, and gently rubbed circles on the back of Minnie's hand.

"So the bottom line is: you could easily stay longer than planned."

"Yes I _could_. But I'd really hate to dump my children on sister's shoulders, only to go gallivanting and have a good time."

"Honey I wouldn't call this gallivanting." Mark said, his tone changing to business now. "You are ill, and I would just hate to let you go back before you have recovered completely."

"I'm fine." she assured him, and tapped her stomach. "At least I will be, when this shell comes off."

From inside came the clicking of heels, and Mark turned his head to see who was coming.

"Amanda." he beamed, and let go of Minnie's hand to draw his friend into a hug. "What brings you here?"

"Yeah well let's see what could that be?" Amanda said sarcastically, "First thing I hear this morning is that you completely ran yourself into the ground yesterday, and refused to be treated, until you nearly fell flat on your face."

Mark chuckled softly. "I did not refuse to be treated. And as you can see now," he pointed his chin at the entrance, "we are having plenty of nursing staff, _and _help for the household. _And,_" he added, indicating the plastic device on the table, "I'm doing my exercises. - And now I want you to meet Minnie. Minnie, this is Amanda Bentley, a colleague of mine, and a very good friend."

Amanda looked down at the - obviously - uneasy little person for a moment, and then held out her hand with a smile. "Oh hello, I already heard about you. A pleasure to meet you."

Minnie shook her hand timidly.

"Minnie will be staying with us." Mark said, and picking up on her unease, he took her hand again. "Honey, Amanda is a single mother too. And her boys are just about the same ages like your kids. I'm sure you guys will be having lots of things to talk about. Amanda, come, sit with us. We gonna have lunch in a minute."

Amanda checked her watch. "I don't think I've got the time for lunch, but I would like to make sure you are alright."

She set her doctors bag purposeful on the table.

"Amanda I'm fine." Mark said good-naturedly. "Philippa checked me very thoroughly this morning, and I think I have enough medical knowledge to determine that I have no fluids in my lungs."

"Your medical knowledge didn't keep you from pushing yourself over the edge yesterday." Amanda chided.

And felt instantly sorry for her harsh reaction, but she had spent the whole morning sick with worry.

But before she could apologize, Mark gave her a very mellow smile, and patted her arm. "I'm sorry, Darling. Of course you want to be sure."

He unbuttoned his shirt to grant her access to his upper body.

In the end Amanda did stay for lunch, because she hadn't expected it to literally be just a minute to it.

Although she had to rush through the meal and hurry on, while Minnie was still far from being even half done with her saimin soup.

Mark watched her for some moments, as she cautiously navigated her spoon through the contents of her bowl.

"You're so quiet, Honey. Anything wrong?"

Minnie shook her head.

"Come on, out with it." he prodded her gently.

She leaned back, and wiped her mouth on the napkin. "Your lady doctor friend puts a lot of blame on me."

"Oh I think you must be mistaken there." Mark told her confidently, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"It's either that," Minnie went on unperturbed, "or she just plain doesn't like me. Which is not entirely unsuspected. People who are so successful in their job, usually don't have much appreciation for dumb little girls like me."

"Honey no, I promise you Amanda isn't like that. She is one of the kindest souls I have ever met. - And you are certainly not dumb."

"Ya but successful people never find out, because they never talk to me. Really, I'm still totally amazed that _you _do."

Mark gave her hand another squeeze. "Of course I do, and I enjoy it very much. And Amanda will too. Maybe she wasn't completely herself today in her worry. And I have to give her that pneumonia at my age is more often than not fatal."

"Yes. And after all, I _am_ to blame for this relapse, ain't I?"

"Hush Honey. Nobody is to blame."

"But if I had let you put me in hospital, like you wanted to the other night, you wouldn't have gotten so ill, would you?"

"I'm not going to listen to any more of this, Honey." He lifted her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss on it. "You can't be in hospital, and that's it."

"Did I act weird?" Minnie wondered.

"You didn't act weird. You were frightened to death."

She sat back again, and searched her mind for memories.

The whole day seemed to be such a haze. That is, the morning was okay. But after that pain had started, that had made breathing so terribly impossible, it had just been like she was in the inside of a cotton ball.

The ride in the ambulance was quite clear again, after she had been injected with a real strong painkiller. That effect had lasted until she was inside the MRI machine.

And then?

A haze.

But she _did_ remember that Steve had been with her.

She sighed.

Steve.

**

* * *

**

"Thanks again." Steve yelled, and hopped out of the helicopter, ducking under the swirling blades.

He had returned the car to San Clemente, and for his trip back had asked ina favor of an acquaint, a news helicopter pilot, to spare himself a tedious hour's ride back into town.

Now he just had to get to his car, then he would be back home for most of the afternoon.

He flagged down a taxi, and leaned back in the seat, looking out of the window.

The sky was particularly blue today.

And the air coming in from the ocean was fresh.

He switched cars, got onto PCH, and cruised out to Malibu with his side window down, and his elbow resting on the open frame.

When he reached Trancas he set the blinker for the left turn lane, but then thought better of it, and did a right turn instead and pulled into How's parking lot.

He entered the flower shop, and faltered a bit.

It wasn't like he had great experiences with flowers. He usually bought roses. Usually to apologize for missing a date or something like that.

He usually bought roses because he knew that women love roses.

But frankly, with Minnie he just wasn't sure.

And also, roses carry a lot of meaning.

Well, with the help of the shop girl he settled for a little bouquet of blue, yellow and white, the daisies being the only flowers he would recognize.

He tipped the girl generously, and headed back to his car.

**

* * *

**

"Jesse, hey Jesse!" Amanda called, and started to run best as she could with her heels on that smooth hospital floor. "Jess!"

"Oh hey Amanda," the young doctor said absently, reading a patient chart on his way down the hall.

"Wait," Amanda demanded, holding on to his arm as she minced to a slower pace. "what in the world is going on at Mark's?"

"What do you mean 'going on'?" Jesse said, and flipped the page around.

"Hey," Amanda snatched the chart. "listen to me." She started gesturing wildly with the chart. "What is it with that girl?"

"What's there to be?" Jesse wondered, and went on on his way.

"What's there to be?" Amanda repeated exasperated, scurrying after him. "I'm gonna tell you what there is. When I came out on the deck, I found Mark and this - _girl_, holding _hands_!"

"So what?" Jesse said. "They did that yesterday all the time."

"_What_?"

"Yea I didn't think any of it. She was frightened, and Mark comforted her."

"Oh no no no no no!" Amanda wagged her finger wildly before his face. "No! There was no fright involved. They were just sitting there," She now stabbed her finger into thin air, like she was pointing at them, "enjoying themselves."

"So what are you saying?" Jesse asked, still completely underwhelmed. "That Mark's got a crush on her?"

"Obviously!" Amanda hissed. "What are we going to do about it?"

Jesse raised his brows, and took back his chart. "Nothing."

"_Nothing_?"

"Nothing. Look Amanda, Mark has gone through a lot of trauma lately. First he lost his daughter, and then his arm. If he thinks it is a little cutie he needs to be happy, then I sure as heck am not going to take that away from him. I've taken enough away already as it is."

"Jesse, that is exactly it! He has been through two of the worst traumata there are. He lost a child, and he lost a part of his body. And he hasn't come to terms with either."

"Oh come on, you know how they are. They are both keeping everything inside. That's just the Sloan-way."

"Just what I say!" Amanda insisted. "Maybe he just snapped."

"Did he act snapped?"

"He acted like I've never seen him act before."

Jesse shrugged, and went on on his way. "Well, he never had a disability before."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

The spine is subdivided in cervical (C), which is the neck, thoracic (T), which is the chest part that curves out backwards, and lumbar (L), which makes the waist, and curves inward again.

The higher the level of injury is, the harder it is to move, because more and more muscles are involved, the higher it gets. If the cervical spine is injured, the hands will be paralyzed too. The worst spinal injury is C1. If the spinal cord gets severed at that high point, the whole body will be paralyzed, including the muscles that are needed for breathing and swallowing.

If the lumbar spine is injured, it's possible that it has very little effect on the body. The spinal cord ends between L1 and L2. Below that level it is just a bundle of individual nerves, called cauda equina. So if injury happens there, it isn't the main line that gets shut off. Only that particular part that is powered by that particular nerve will cease to work.

A fourth part of the spinal column is the tail bone, sacral (S). But that part is fused together, and has no intervertebral discs.

Minnie's level of injury is T9, which is located below her shoulder blades. That means she has no control over her stomach muscles, and even sitting up unsupported is difficult.


	8. Chapter 8

**Super Human 8**

When Steve came out onto the deck, he found his Dad and Minnie sitting knee to knee, hunched over the shoe again.

Minnie was quietly giving instructions, and his Dad tied the lace.

Steve watched amazed how Mark tied a knot, following Minnie's instruction to wrap the string around his hook once, to get more tension when he pulled. Other than Steve would have expected, he used his hand to hold the loop, and his hook to wrap the other end around. But it all made sense when he saw how nimbly his Dad used the fingers of his hand to pull the second loop through.

The bow was tied, and Minnie clapped her hands in delight. Though this didn't seem to be the first time that it had worked. The whole process had taken just about as much time a little kid might need to lace his shoes, and went just about as smoothly. And now Mark undid the lace again.

Steve smiled. "Busy everybody?"

They both looked up, and Minnie's eyes shone brightly as she gushed: "Steve!"

Realizing that her greeting had again not exactly been made in proper diffidence, she sucked her lips, and felt her cheeks turn pink.

Steve chuckled, and stepped up to her side. He wished he could take things as much in stride as his Dad, and just casually drop a kiss on her forehead, or maybe her cheek. But instead he just clumsily laid his hand on her shoulder, with a tentative squeezing motion of his thumb, and presented her the flowers.

"Hi Minnie, glad to see you're feeling better."

"Yes I am." she said softly.

She took the flowers with utter care, like they would shatter if she moved them too fast, and looked up with her big, brown eyes. "For me?"

"For you." he confirmed with a smile.

Minnie closed her eyes, taking in the fresh scent, and then very tenderly brushed her fingertips over the blossoms, barely touching them. "They are wonderful." she whispered, and looked up again. "Daisies are the most precious flowers of all, aren't they?"

It wasn't like Steve had spent a lot of thoughts on that, so he was glad it was a rhetorical question.

"They grow in cities, where nobody would expect flowers to grow." she went on. "And all one needs to do is stop for a moment, to look at them. That's all what it takes to get a smile on one's face." Again she took in the scent. "They can do that. And they want nothing in return."

She looked up, her cheeks still rosy. "Thank you very much."

Steve smiled. "You are welcome."

Minnie breathed a happy sigh. She really felt like she was welcome here.

"I'll get you a vase." Steve said, and headed back in.

Mark was still sitting in the same place, knee to knee with her, but she didn't take any notice of him. She cherished the flowers in her hands, and then cast out a look at the blue ocean.

Steve returned with a vase, and gently took the bouquet from Minnie's hand.

"Dad," he asked over his shoulder, "how are you?"

"Fine Son. A lot better. Lung is still clear, and I'm back to steady on my legs. - What are you doing home so early?"

"The chief sent me home."

"Well young man, I hope I don't have to go to a parent-teacher meeting."

Steve made a face and rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm still an A-grade student. The chief wants me to think his offer through."

Mark nodded enlightened. But before he could dwell on that subject, Steve changed the topic, and that with considerable ease, as Mark couldn't help but notice.

"And you got that shoe lace tied?"

"Yes." he beamed. "Once you know the trick, it's easy as pie."

"Your Dad is awesomely awesome!" Minnie gushed, and excited pink spots came back into her cheeks. "Would you believe he has done _magical tricks_ all his life?" She reached for both Mark's hand and hook, and stroked both gently with her thumb. "With a hand as habile as that he's gonna do fine. Guess what, he can tie the lace both with his hook, _and_ with only just his hand!"

Steve took a step back. "Really?"

Mark felt his son tensing up again, and knew that this time it had nothing to do with his disability.

For pete's sake! He turned his head towards the sea, to roll his eyes big time. His son was not thinking that he was competing him for Minnie, or was he?

Mark wanted to smack his forehead. Or better yet: his dense son's forehead.

He looked back at Minnie, and carefully saw that there was no long-sufferingness in his voice when he said: "Honey, what am I thinking. You've been in this chair for way too long now." He kissed her hand before he let go, and looked up. "Steve, you could put her back on the couch, please."

Steve was taken aback, his mind dutifully supplying him with images of his big hands easily snapping the little person in two. "Dad! Shouldn't better the nurse do that?"

This time Mark's eyes rolled before he could look away, and Minnie saw it. He gave her a secretive little wink, and looked up at Steve again. "Now don't you worry Son, her back is safe in the brace. You can handle her without any greater precautions." He rose to his feet. "Come on now, she really has to lie down."

He ushered them in to the couch, where Minnie's pillow lay in the corner seat, and the blanket was spread away over the backrest.

Steve braked the chair, and ever so carefully slipped his hands behind Minnie's back and under her knees.

"You tell me when I hurt you, okay?"

She didn't even nod. She just looped her arm around his neck, and waited for him to lift her up against his awesomely broad chest.

How could he hurt her?

- Minnie hated to be carried. For one person she is too heavy, and two persons never work coordinated together.

Even when people just set her up onto a tall step she couldn't manage alone. They pull and yank on her chair, one person in this direction, and the other in that. And when the chair loses contact to the ground, and hangs in thin air, it's a terrible feeling. It's total loss of control, and nobody cares that being tipped back in the process is as bad as it gets.

But when Steve carried her, it was the safest place on earth for her to be, and she was utterly sorry that it was only just a stride to the couch.

Still, she took the opportunity, and snuggled her head against his shoulder, taking in his fresh scent.

The quiff of longish hair down his neck tickled the skin of her bare forearm, and when he set her down so carefully, he came so close that she could almost bury her nose in his hair.

She sighed.

"Did I hurt you?" Steve asked in alarm.

Mark rolled his eyes. Criminy! With his son legally blind to reading signs, it was no wonder he never got a girl.

"She is fine, Son." he said, when Minnie was still speechless in awe, and patted her shoulder. "Now be so good and keep her company. I'm gonna have Elizabeth give me my massage." He coughed a bit to underscore the importance of that venture, and beckoned the nurse, who was sitting at his desk, doing paperwork. "Elizabeth."

They disappeared in the corridor that led to the master bedroom, and left it to Steve to take care of Minnie.

He loosely spread the blanket over her, and then, with all the caring done already, sat down on the coffee table.

"Uh, listen, I'm terribly sorry." he said, smitten with remorse.

"No really," Minnie told him brightly, "like your Dad said, you didn't hurt me at all."

"Er, I mean..." Steve made a little gesture, "For what happened."

She looked expectantly at him, clearly waiting for more information.

"Uh, your injury." he tried again.

"Oh!" she made enlightened. "That." She waved it off. "Really, it doesn't hurt at all."

Steve scratched his forehead. "Erm, I heard that you can't even sit up without assistance anymore."

"Ya weird, huh?"

Steve felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and for the lack of anything better to do he picked up her hand, and looked down at it for a moment.

How small it was in his hand.

He laid his other hand on top, swallowing Minnie's completely.

"I mean I'm sorry that your condition has worsened." he spelled it out. "That you won't be able to stand up anymore."

"_Oh_!" she made even more enlightened. "Ya. No. You shouldn't worry. My life really won't change much. And also, my cord has gotten tweaked before, and recovered again. So, there is no way to tell if this is permanent or not."

Steve nodded, and thought for a moment.

"You know," he said, and gently brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, "this could mean a big chance for you."

Minnie drew back. "You aren't thinking of suing, are you?"

He deemed it wise to just shrug indifferently.

"No way. First, if I sue, things will just get totally out of control, and I'll end up having to pay who knows how much. And secondly, - I don't know, it's just not what one does. It's not that company's fault that I'm in financial doo-doo, so they shouldn't pay me out of it. All I want is that I get my chair replaced. And thanks to you I can give my health insurance the company's name, and fine it is."

"Why should everything get out of control?" Steve wondered.

"Because it always does when I try to get money. Even if it's just what I'm entitled to. I never get it, and usually end up losing even more. Really. I just won't touch it. Money is bad Karma with me."

Steve wanted to assure her that nothing would get out of control. That they had top-notch lawyers among their friends, who sure would not lose a clear case like this, and also that he himself had enough law training to see her through safely. But he could feel how she tensed up, and started getting upset by this topic, so he better left it alone.

"Well," he said, "at least you'll get your chair replaced."

He felt her relax.

"Yes." she said, exhaling deeply. "Can't wait to get it."

"Will you have to wait until you are back in Germany?"

She shrugged. "Hmm, dunno. - Probably."

"And how long will you stay here?"

Minnie sighed, and looked at her hand in his.

Do I really have to go? Mark said something about Christmas? And hey, next year there will be a Christmas too. Look, this seems to be a sign, that I stumble in here right the one moment when you are unattached. Let's get married, before the next long-legged beach babe blonde comes by and demands all your attention.

"One week." she answered his question. "Or maybe two. Your Dad wants to see how my back will be doing by then."

The telephone rang, and Steve stood up, laying her hand carefully back by her side.

"Excuse me." he said, and jogged across the room to catch the call.

Minnie exhaled exasperated, and smacked her forehead. 'Getting married. - _Duh_!'

The phone call seemed to be important. After a couple of minutes Steve looked over the backrest, and told her that he needed to go downstairs for a while, and collect some papers. Would that be okay with her, or should he call his Dad, or Elizabeth.

Oy, like I'm a nursing case or something Minnie thought, and told him it sure was okay.

While he was gone, she snuggled a bit deeper into her blanket, and closed her eyes.

**

* * *

**

When Mark came back into the livingroom, he found his son sitting at his desk, engrossed in some papers, a glass of milk and a saucer with a couple of chocolate chip cookies stacked up at hand.

Mark rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Steve, what are you doing here?"

Steve put his finger to his lips. "Minnie is asleep."

Well okay, that would pass as an excuse.

Mark went over to the couch to have a look if everything was okay. Minnie's face looked relaxed, and her forehead felt cool to to his careful touch. She seemed to be as fine as one could be in a delicate state of health like hers.

He told Elizabeth she could now start another round of infusions, but please be careful to not wake her, and returned to the desk.

"What are those?" he asked casually, sitting down on the desk on one leg.

"The shooting in the courthouse." Steve took a cookie and leaned back. "Seems that Kincaid's investigation got stuck only a couple of yards down the road."

Mark sighed, and with his voice about an octave lower he asked: "Son, why did you do that? Why did you hand a case like that over. _Especially_ to somebody like Kincaid."

"Well, he was the only one available."

Mark cast a look at the sheets. "And now? Are you taking the case back?"

"No Dad. Just going over some notes here. - Well, I think Newman is thinking of reassigning the case."

"So why not to you? Steve I would really hate to see you pass up a chance like that case because of me."

Steve drank from his milk, and looked up.

Mark noticed that he was still looking too straight in his eyes, to avoid that his view would take in the stump, but otherwise his son seemed relaxed.

"I don't." Steve said. I'm out of it anyway. The chief reassigned me to the Malibu precinct as interim captain, starting tomorrow."

"What about Johnson? I thought he would leave next month."

"His son is back in hospital. The cancer spread."

Mark shook his head with a heavy sigh. "It's such a shame. The boy is only sixteen. His only worries should be his grades in school."

Again he shook his head, and then returned to their topic. "And do you want to do it?"

Steve shrugged. "I think so."

He saw his Dad's demures, and held up a halting hand. "Listen Dad, it's not so much that I don't know if I want to do that, but more that I don't know if I want to keep doing what I'm doing right now. Look here, I'm approaching my mid-fifties fast. Do I really want to go on chasing scum through the streets and kicking down doors, and losing one date after the other to my unpredictable schedule?"

Mark perked up his ears. "Are you planning to put down roots?"

Steve leaned back and put his ankle up on his knee. "I'm planning to put down roots for quite a while already. Maybe a desk job with decent hours will give me a chance."

Mark leaned closer in a conspiratorial way. "Are you having any plans in particular?"

A rush of red surged up into Steve's ears, and he hastily began to gather up his papers, clearly lacking a sensible pattern for it. "Uh no nothing, Dad. Just general thoughts."

He was too busy to take any notice of the long-suffering expression on Mark's face.

**

* * *

**

It was a mean, stabbing pain that yanked Minnie from her sleep, and in her drowse she just couldn't keep the pitiful moan inside.

"I'm sorry Minnie, I didn't mean to hurt you."

That was Steve. Pretty unhappy.

Minnie worked up her arm, to make a dismissive gesture, while she tried to breathe through the pain.

She was being rolled from her back to her side, and it wasn't unusual for her back to react huffy, after having spent a certain amount of time in one position.

"Just a moment, Honey." Mark said soothingly close by her ear. "I'm letting Elizabeth inject another dose of analgesics. It's gonna be better in a moment." He stroked her head. "You'll go back to sleep."

Again Minnie held up her hand, but the syringe was already being emptied into her system.

And it sure got better pretty much instantly.

The pain got dulled under a pleasantly fuzzy feeling, and her body relaxed visibly.

She sighed, and wriggled a bit to get more comfortable in the new position.

Elizabeth stuffed two cushions behind her back, so she wouldn't roll back, and one cushion between her knees, to support her lower back and her hip joint.

"Thank you." Minnie said, and drew the blanket up a bit, to bunch before her chest. "This is very comfortable."

Elizabeth nodded, and disappeared again, out of Minnie's field of vision.

She held out her hand for Mark. "And thanks to you too. But you really shouldn't do that. If you keep giving me these strong painkillers, I'm gonna be in deep doo-doo when I'm back in Germany."

"Oh please don't worry about that. I know enough doctors who work internationally. I'm sure we can find somebody with connections to Hamburg, and make sure you will get the medication you need."

"Wow. Yes." she whispered in awe. "You would still protect me, even if I'm half a world away."

"I'll do all I can." Mark said softly, but honestly.

"And you," Minnie took Steve's hand and gave it some encouraging squeezes, "don't you worry. You can't hurt me."

"Honey," Mark said in utter surprise, and had a look at the vial, just to really be sure the proper drug had been administered, "this should have knocked you out of your shoes."

He stooped to check her pupils.

Minnie made a dismissive gesture. "Mh. Terribly high tolerance for analgesics."

"But _that_ high." Mark muttered.

"It's what got me into trouble. Go to any doctor you want, and say that there is only one opiate that works for you, but you need at least a double dose."

Mark sighed. Yes. That would press all the alarm buttons at once. He himself had often refrained from giving opiates under circumstances like that.

"Well," Minnie said lightly, "again, my doctor _should_ have known. He was the one who dignosed it in the first place. - And anyhoo, I'm not too sure I want to start over again with painkillers. I really have found a good way of dealing with the pain. It just gets weird when I don't move enough."

Mark heaved another sigh. "Afraid you will have to take it very easy for a couple of more days."

"Ya well, as long as it isn't weeks, or even months, I still will be okay. - Only maybe, do you think I can do some arm workouts? Like lifting weights? Muscles go away so quickly when one lounges around on couches all day."

He gave her a look like over the rims of his glasses. "You aren't lounging around, young lady. You are recuperating from a near fatal injury."

"Ewww, you make it sound so serious like."

"Honey it _was _serious like." Mark pointed out gently.

"So you _won't _let me do arm workouts?" Minnie whined, with what she knew would be perceived as a cute little pout.

And Mark sure enough was wax in her hands. He chuckled softly, and kissed her temple. "I'm gonna tell Guillaume to bring weights tomorrow."

"Tell him to bring big ones. Therapists are such sissys when it comes to weights. If the choice is up to him, he'll probably bring a delicate little pair that's probably pink."

Steve laughed softly.

"Easy Honey," Mark said slightly long-sufferingly, "you still have to take it easy." He patted her arm. "I'll be sure to tell Guillaume that no pink weights will be accepted in this house."

Minnie smiled. "Merci beaucoup, j'apprécie énormément."

Mark's brows went up. "You want to say it isn't only German and English in here," He tapped her head, "but French too?"

"Not half as much as English, but enough to thrill Guillaume out of his head." she grinned.

"Oh I can see that." Mark tee-hee-ed.

Minnie flexed her biceps a couple of times. "I really have to see that I can keep at seast _some_ of what I have trained into my arms."

Again Steve was amazed by the well-defined muscles.

Small, yes. But well-defined.

Well, the topic seemed to be exhausted, so Steve cleared his throat, and dared to ask: "Uh-hum, and you are really going for fifteen kilomter long ... jogs?"

"Ya naww. The average actually is just eight kilometers. I only brag when I say fifteen. I do ten on good days. And fifteen really is an exception. It's pretty time consuming. Takes me about three hours."

"Three hours?" he repeated exasperated. "That is _amazing_! _More_ than amazing. When I was a kid, and visited Dad at the hospital, I often" He lowered his head, as if ashamed of his misdeeds, "I had wheelchair races with my friends. And I'd say it's next to impossible to go for fifteen kilometers. Much less in just three hours."

Minnie smiled. "But you _are_ aware that there have been some major betterments in technology since then? In a chair like that," She nodded at the clunky loaner, "it probably _is _impossible to go for fifteen kilometers. At least I wouldn't want to try that. What a rubber duck. I always feel disabled when I'm in it."

Mark tee-hee-ed again.

"I know, everybody thinks that thing is top-notch, because it has black tubing, and black plastic spokes. But really. This is basically still the same technology they had come up with - when? In the fifties? Or sixties?"

Steve scratched his forehead, and his face showed that indeed he had thought of that chair as advanced.

Minnie smiled. "Didn't you ever notice that the chairs we gimps use look totally different? - Ah, no." she answered for herself. "Of course not. You don't look."

"Of course not!" Steve said slightly scandalized. "No disabled person wants to be stared at."

"Not stared at. You are right there. But _looked _at." she pointed out gently. "Or would you want to live in a world where everybody pretends you don't exist?"

Steve sucked his lips.

"You know," Minnie went on, "it's okay when people take notice of me. And if I have a cool chair, it sure is okay for people to admire it. Makes me feel cool. And it also is okay for people to look at my legs." She giggled. "If they avoid looking at them, I start wondering if maybe something is wrong with them."

Mark was delighted, and rub-squeezed her lower leg. "I sure see nothing wrong here."

"Now," He slapped his thigh, "how's this: I talked to your health insurance company. And since you have to stay here for a bit anyway, it might make sense to order your new chair right away, so that you have it when you return. Otherwise you would have to wait, first until you can travel, plus the additional time the chair needs to be built and shipped."

Minnie tucked her chin back. "Uh. I wouldn't know where to begin to look. I mean I have no idea about American brands."

"That is no problem Honey, the guy at the shop said your chair's manufacturer was a subcompany of Sunrise Medical, which happens to be the American brand he would have suggested anyway as a good start to look. - Steve, bring the computer please."

Steve got up to get it, and Mark took the seat he had vacated, right next to Minnie, on the short side of the couch.

Steve opened a drawer with great confidence, but didn't find what he was looking for. So he opened another.

"Dad," He half turned around, "how often did I tell you to put your stuff back in the places where it belongs."

Mark made a duly contrite face. "Yeah. Sorry Son."

Steve opened two more drawers, thought for a moment, and then headed for the kitchen.

Mark laughed softly, and dropped a kiss on Minnie's head. "See how much good you are doing him? It's the first time he has chided me since the accident."

Steve returned with the laptop, plugged it into an outlet in the floor by the couch, and started it up befor he handed it Mark.

"Dad, I don't think the kitchen is a good place to keep a computer. If you find a recipe on the internet, just print it out the next time."

"Absolutely right, Son." Mark agreed. "You want to help Minnie sit up?"

Steve fluffed the pillow and very carefully propped Minnie up against it.

And it was a tremendous relief to him that there was no painful vocalization this time.

Only a gentle hue of pink in her cheeks.

"Uh-oh."

He looked at his Dad. "Something wrong?"

Mark looked at the screen with mild resignation. "Looks like maybe the kitchen is indeed no good place to store a computer." He set the machine in Minnie's lap. "Will this work for you anyway?"

She shrugged. "Well, might get tricky to pick a color."

Steve stooped over the screen, and found that everything was cast in a purplish glow. At some spots a little green too.

He made a face at his Dad, and sat down by his side.

"And now?" Minnie asked expectantly.

"Just go ahead." Mark told her.

She gasped. "You want _me _to operate it? What if I destroy it?"

"Dad has already taken care of that." Steve said wryly, and reached over. "Just open a browser, and enter Sunrise Medical."

He double clicked, and the window opened.

If it were just for Minnie, Steve could have gone on operating the computer in her lap. She liked that his hand came so wonderfully close, and she would have been perfectly happy just watching it.

She loved his hands. They were so strong, and just perfectly shaped. They had all nicely knobbly knuckles, and they told a bit about his age.

Going by his face and body, she would have estimated him around her own age, in his mid thirties. But his hands were quite a bit more seasoned. Well, as were his eyes.

Steve didn't strike her as the person who easily smiles, so all those cute lines around his eyes would have needed some decades to carve themselves into his face. So he must be in his forties already.

But well.

With the patient assistance of the two men, Minnie managed to get into Sunrise Medical's website.

She clicked on 'Lightweight Wheelchairs', and wrinkled her nose in obvious displeasure.

"Hoo, there seems to be quite a gap in what Germans think of lightweight chairs, and what Americans do." She gestured at the screen. "According to this I already _have_ a lightweight chair."

She scrolled down the long row of thumbnails. "Eww. All just folding chairs. I don't even know why they still make them. It's a terrible hassle to get a folding chair into one's car." She wrinkled her nose again. "Really. I need something to get around with."

Mark reached across and patted her arm. "Just saying it: you _do _know that you can have a power chair too, do you?"

"Eww! What would I want with a power chair? My arms are perfectly fine. Power chairs are for awfully badly disabled people who can't use their arms either."

Mark tipped his head, his chin tucked all the way back. "That seems to be another difference between America and Germany."

"Really?"

Mark shrugged. "At least it seems that all the wheelchairs I see are power chairs."

"Weird."

Mark chuckled.

"Well," he said, to help the matter at hand, "I know that Invacare is a big brand around here."

"Invacare is _American_? Eww. They only make crappy folding chairs that..."

The rest of her sentence got lost for an excited gasp.

"Found something?" Mark asked, peeking at the screen.

"Yeah, this one sure looks... Ah, naww, forget it."

"What's with it?"

"Wrong category. I had a lightweight chair. This one is an _ultra_ lightweight. Look, it's titanium!"

She moved the cursor up to close the window, but Mark gently stopped her hand, and moved the cursor down again. "If you like it, we should take a look at the details."

"No good," Minnie whined. "Look, the price of the base model is already three thousand four hundred Dollars. The details will raise the price by at least another thousand."

"Well, a good thing you don't have to pay for it yourself." Mark soothed her, and clicked on product images.

Minnie breathed a longing sigh when she saw the sleek chair from a couple of different angles.

"Gosh look! And it weighs another eight pounds less than my Starlight."

Mark smiled very pleased. "So, do you think this is it, or do you want to go on looking for something better?"

"What better could there be?" Minnie said dreamily.

Then she snapped out of it. "No! Really! It's out of the question."

Her eyes were glued to the screen.

"It's gonna be paid for."

"Yeah, I can just imagine how happy that company will be to support my follies."

Mark reached over, and gently turned her head by her chin. "Honey, they will be happy that they aren't being sued out of existence."

Minnie sucked her lips. "You think?"

He kissed her forehead. "I know. - And now get started on that order sheet, before this screen makes us blind."

Steve sat silently amazed, as Minnie went through the - surprisingly - long orderform. And he was amazed by her insight into the matter.

She easily determined wheelbase and camber, words he knew from his racings, but sure would have never thought of applying to wheelchairs.

He had to get his mom's old measuring tape, and take measure of Minnie's legs after her very distinct instructions. He had to put her shoe on too, to get the exact measure from the hollow of her knee to the bottom of her shoe, then measure the exact length of her thigh's downside, from the hollow of her knee to her behind while she was sitting. The width of the seat was to be not so exact, because there has to be a space on each side between the thighs and the side guards, at least enough to stick a hand in, so the circulation wouldn't be impaired.

And Mark was glad that he hadn't done this himself. Minnie had very adamant ideas about wheelchairs, especially her own, and he would never have been able to guess them. For instance, Minnie never went for the comfort-option. The thought of having armrests on her chair downright scandalized her. Even though they were just simple swing-away bars. Nothing like the things on the loaner chair.

She also refused to have natural fit handrims, or rims with plastic coating for better grip. Instead she insisted on having the good old plain chrome rims. And not for monetary reasons he had to realize. Chrome rims weren't available for that chair, and so she left the rims away completely, to later see that she could get a pair in Germany. Even though they were the heaviest choice, they also are the only ones that don't get hot on a steep downhill ride.

On the other hand she surprised him by selecting the platform footrest over the integrated tubular one, even though it was charged extra, and even more when she went straight for the aluminum sideguard with fender, despite the outrageously high price (author's thinking, not Mark's.) of three hundred fifty-fife Dollars, as opposed to one-hundred and twenty-five for the regular plastic one.

Then Minnie was scandalized again at the thoughts of having spoke guards, (even clear ones.) and an anti-tip wheel on her cool chair.

In the end Steve was surprised that the chair came out close to five thousand Dollars, a price you could easily get a good car for.

Well, actually the chair would be going on five thousand two hundred, because Mark would buy a gel cushion for it.

Minnie had insisted on just the plainest foam cushion, but only because it was the cheapest option.

And he was pretty sure that she hadn't fully thought through the new level of her injury, which would let even the last remains of muscles atophy away. And with practically no fatty tissue either, pressure sores were almost pre programmed with the wrong cushion.

Steve printed the sheets, and they all were glad to finally escape that purple glow.

Dinner was ready only a short while later, and it was Steve's job again to set Minnie into her chair.

Then he dragged her along, like he had done on the first day, holding on to her hand, and seated her at the table, like he had seen his Dad do it, with a hand on her back.

He took the seat by her left side, so Mark could be on the right, and Minnie could be his hand, because he left his prosthesis off.

The skin was so much better already, and Mark wanted to take advantage of this kind of down time, while he wasn't able to do any work really.

Francine, the houshold help brought a tall tureen, set it on the table, and opened the lid.

A stench of parmesan assaulted Minnie's nose, and she hastily clamped her mouth shut, retching hard.

Steve saw her predicament, realizing that she was unable to move with only just one hand, and rushed her to the bathroom.

The poor kid couldn't even lean far enough over the toilet with her back brace. Not easily anyway. So he set her on his knee, and held her head while she emptied her near empty stomach.

Mark followed after a minute with his bag.

"She's shaking like a leaf." Steve told him worried, rubbing Minnie's arm gently.

"Yes." Mark set his bag on the vanity, and wetted a cloth with warm water. "Honey how are you?"

"Fine." she peeped through clicking teeth.

"Having any headaches?"

She shook her head, which could hardly be made out under her fitful shivering.

Knowing that, she added a shaky dismissive gesture.

Mark washed her face, and she relaxed a bit by the warm touch.

"What was it?" Mark inquired gently. "I thought spaghetti were okay?"

"But that was par_me_san cheese!" Minnie whined, as if that would explain everything.

Well, and it did, to Mark anyway. He already had a good idea about her - well, let's say, her characteristics.

He dropped a kiss on her head. "Take her to bed, Son."

Elizabeth changed her into her pajamas, before her shift was over, and wished her a good night and to get better quick.

Minnie had stopped shivering when Steve had tucked her in under his quilt.

"I'm sorry." she peeped meekly, as Mark was sitting by her side, pulling a long face. "I don't know what that was. I mean, I don't like parmesan for sure, but usually it doesn't make me throw up."

That didn't help to dispel Mark's worries.

"I'm fine." Minnie tried to assure him.

He nodded, and brushed down her hair.

The night nurse, Jill, brought a hot water bottle, and started another infusion while Mark examined Minnie.

"Honey, are you still sick, or do you think you can stand to have some soup?"

Alone the thought of the twenty-seven ingredients made her cringe.

"You don't have to." Mark soothed her. "But if you feel like anything, just tell Jill, okay?"

"Okay." she peeped. "And now you go and have dinner. Unless I totally spoiled your appetite."

"Hush Honey. You didn't spoil anything."

"Then off with you." She slipped her hand out from under the covers, and made a pushing motion with only just her fingers. "Shoo, shoo. Never mind me. Off with yous."

Mark smiled, and kissed her head, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I'll drop in later."

She breathed a little sigh, and closed her eyes.

"What's wrong with her, Dad?" Steve asked worried, as they had their meal by the open deckdoor.

Mark shook his head. "I don't know. But I pray it isn't her autonomous nervous system. If that is what makes her sick, then it's most likely to happen again. And this girl has nothing to spare. Her weight is just too close to critical." He heaved a sigh. "She needs to gain weight. And she needs to be rehydrated. If not..."

Mark trailed off, unable to follow the thought through.

His daughter's death was still too recent, too painfully present in his mind.

The sight of his Dad, weighed down by grief and worry, almost tore Steve's heart out.

He reached across Minnie's empty place, and put his hand around his Dad's residual arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "She will be fine, Dad. You will see to that."


	9. Chapter 9

**Super Human 9**

Jesse parked his blue Ford Mustang behind Steve's truck, staying well away from the empty spot where Mark's black Saab used to park, grabbed his case, and went up to the house. He knocked the front door, and entered right away. "Morning!"

A male nurse came rushing from the guestroom, a terrific frown on his face and his finger on his lips, Steve stepped out of the kitchen, a spatula in hand, and Mark opened the door to his bedroom, all three going: "_Shhhhh_!"

Jesse ducked between his shoulders, and automatically started to tip-toe.

"Minnie is still asleep." Mark chided him under his breath, and motioned him into his bedroom.

"Uh, hey, hi." Jesse said at a very low volume. "How is she doing?"

"She slept well through the night." Mark said, and shrugged out of his dressing gown. He sat down on a chair by the bed, and unbuttoned his pajama.

Jesse admired him for the ease with which he did it, not realizing that he himself - like so many people- very often unbuttoned a shirt single-handedly.

The door knocked.

"Excuse me, Dr. Sloan," the nurse said apologetically, "but Miss Minnie woke up, and she seems distressed."

Mark stood up, and hastily put his gown back on. "Is she feeling sick?"

"No I don't think so." The nurse opened the door fully, to let Mark pass. "Just distressed."

Mark rushed into the next room, where Minnie lay entrenched behind a bunch of covers.

"Honey." He kissed her forehead and sat down by her side, taking her hand. "Something wrong?"

"No really." she whined, obviously dismayed again how much 'trouble' she was. "I _told_ the man to never mind me and not bother you."

Mark deflated with a sigh, and let his chin drop down to his chest, looking at Minnie from under his brows. "Of course he minds, because that is his job, and I am not bothered, Honey." He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "You want to tell me what it is?"

Minnie rolled her eyes, and made a dismissive gesture. "Pft. It's just me being totally sookylala."

Mark gave her his most avuncular expression, knowing that it would make her open up.

And right. She shrugged. "It's just me and faces."

"What faces?" he gently encouraged her to go on.

She shrugged again. "Well, I was pretty darn sure the man in my room was not Elizabeth. And you know, I was _so_ proud of myself that I always was able to recognize Steve. And when I woke up, and the man was sitting where Steve used to sit the other night, but kind of not looked really like Steve, only maybe a bit, I feared my brain had gone back to normal, and I can't tell Steve apart from others anymore."

Mark looked at the tall, broad-shouldered nurse. Well yes, his figure was not dissimilar to Steve's. And he had brown hair too. Though a lot shorter than his son's.

He gave Minnie's hand a squeeze. "You mean you can't recognize faces?"

"Not _you._" she assured him, and reached out to stroke his mustache with the tip of her forefinger. "You are easy."

Well, he was absolutely sure about that. He was the only one with white hair, and just one arm.

"Alright Honey. Afraid Elizabeth is tied up elsewhere. But I'm sure we can find a service that can send the same nurse..."

"Ta ta ta." Minnie interrupted him. "Now never mind me. I was just a leetle bit disconcerted. I got startled from sleep, and just," She made a _duh_-expression, "got out of sorts." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm fine."

"Okay." With another kiss on her forehead he stood up, holding his gown and pajama clasped closed. "You want to try and go back to sleep? It's still early."

"Not so early that the whole house isn't awake already." Minnie pointed out, displeased with her laziness. "And it will be good to come off my back for a while."

"Okay Honey, see you at breakfast then."

Together with Jesse he returned to his own room.

"Prosopagnosia?" his young friend wondered, and peeled off the patch on Mark's back, that covered the punctuation site.

"Apparently."

Jesse wiped the spot with disinfectant, and then covered it with just a strip. "Wow, I've never seen a case of face blindness before. I sure would like to run some tests..."

"Jesse." Mark turned around to let him see his stern expression. "What I said yesterday is still in effect. Nobody is going to touch Minnie, unless I say so."

"Yeah. Sure. Okay." Jesse said, slightly taken aback.

"Listen." Mark turned around. "Minnie has been through years of ..." He hunted for the right word, "basically maltreatment. You saw what her back looks like. And she was forced to go without any pain medication for _years. _Imagine Jesse. She is raising two kids alone, and that from a wheelchair into which a doctor had put her. And just to add insult to injury they flag her as an addict." Mark shook his head. "And my guess is that she has also seen some domestic violence too. Still, she is the sunniest, kid you can imagine. You don't see her complain, and she absolutely embraces life. And she _trusts me_. I'm not going to jeopardize that."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey. You really like her, don't you?"

A very warm smile spread on Mark's face. "Oh yes I do." he burred. "She's just adorable."

Jesse nodded, and plugged his stethoscope in. "Take a deep breath."

Mark breathed after Jesse's instructions, easily filling his lungs with air.

The young doctor was pleased by the results, and noted them down in the chart.

Then he braced himself for his next task.

Checking the skin on the stump.

Ever since Mark had left the hospital, he hadn't really seen, much less touched it.

Yes, he had seen the prosthetic. But not the bare stump.

Now he felt like a perpetrator, who came back to the scene of his crime.

He willed his hands to be steady, and prayed his facial expression would convey professionalism.

The silence felt awkward. So he said: "I can imagine it is good to have somebody around who knows what you are going through."

Mark looked at him. "It is good to have somebody around who doesn't only see the disabled old and feeble man."

He knew this had done nothing to alleviate Jesse's mind, and wished he could have Minnie's ease.

He certainly felt like she did, but he just wasn't able to transport it.

He sighed. "Well, you gonna get sufficient chance to get to know her, and see for yourself how she is."

"How long will she stay?"

"Oh I hope she won't leave at all."

**

* * *

**

Minnie took advantage of the strong, male nurse, and let him help her wash her hair, which was more than due.

She was a bit aghast that he used the soap that came with the bathroom instead of her own, because it looked terribly expensive. But she was delighted to see that her fair hair looked fluffier than ever, and even had a light spring. And she was even more delighted to see that Steve seemed delighted, when she came out onto the deck.

He gave her a smile that turned her cheeks pink, and rose to his feet to seat her at the table, next to himself. "Good morning Minnie. Glad to see you are feeling better."

"Yes." she purred.

Yes. Another day in paradise.

"Dr. Jesse Travis." Steve introduced informally with a gesture. "You met the other day."

Minnie dug into her scarce memories again, and tried to imagine the man with those cute, boyish features with a white coat.

"Hey," Jesse said, in his always slightly dramatic way, forcing his voice out on one side, and on the other restraining it and keeping it like under his breath. "nice to meet you again."

"Oh!" she made enlightened, sitting up more straight in an effort to think better. "You were the doctor guy who let Mark go through with taking the blood sample."

Not too sure where this would be leading, Jesse half shrugged, half nodded non-committally.

Minnie beamed and gushed: "Thank you _so_ much! The other doctor lady was so infuriating with her yammerings about disabled people not being able to do things properly. Pft! Not being able my foot! _You _saw how skillfully he worked, didn't you? He's absolutely awesome!"

"Yes he is." Jesse agreed readily, which seemed to please her to no ends.

Mark stepped out onto the deck, and was relieved to find Minnie relaxed in the presence of another doctor.

"Sorry for holding everything up." he excused himself.

Minnie tried to turn around, couldn't, because of her brace, and so reached blindly for Mark's hand. "I only beat you by a minute. Look, Ryan washed my hair. He used _your _soap, and now I smell like a floret."

Mark tee-hee-ed, and dropped a kiss on her head, taking in the scent. "That is so. - Jesse, that's my place."

"Oh." This was a first. Places had never been assigned to certain owners at the Beach House. But of course Jesse obediently vacated the chair on Minnie's right side, and sat down in the place opposite of her instead.

Mark sat down, and Minnie needed no prompting to roll up his sleeves.

Steve went in to bring out more coffee, and Jesse followed. To be of help, he tried to convince himself, but actually it was to grant Mark and Minnie some privacy.

But when they came back outside, they found Mark putting on his watch, using his teeth and tongue, lower lip, and even his chin to get the prong through the strap, and Minnie clapping her hands in delight when he did.

Jesse felt a surge of guilt, and stopped in his tracks. But Steve nudged him from behind to go on. He set the glass of milk before Minnie, and as he was stooping, he surprised himself by dropping a little kiss on her fragrant head.

And funny. It went by completely unnoticed. Not of course by Minnie. She sat with her head lowered, but he still could see the incredulously excited smile behind sucked lips, and and the gentle hue turning her cheeks rosy. But otherwise, the world hadn't stopped, and his Dad had not chided him for taking advantage of a disabled girl or something

He poured coffee in all three cups, while Jesse handed out scrambled eggs.

"Mark?"

He held up his hand. "Thanks. I'll have a toast too."

So Steve inserted two slices.

"Actually," Jesse said, "it should be _you_ two eating all these calories, instead of us. Both of you need to put on some weight."

Mark rubbed his stomach. Actually he wasn't very sad that his pouch was gone. But of course he knew that Jesse was right. Especially after the other day had shown that still had to go quite a bit to full recovery. And should he develop any greater problems on that way, his body might reach its limits rather fast.

But of course it wasn't as imperative as it was for Minnie.

"Honey, I hope there is something after your taste today."

Minnie seemed to be elsewhere completely. She was looking out at the ocean, smiling placidly.

"Honey?"

She turned towards him. "Hm?"

He smiled warmly, and lifted her hand to his lips. "You love the sea, don't you?"

"Oh yes I do." she confirmed softly, but deeply pleased. "Where I live is pretty close to the sea too. Only too bad I can't go to the beach anymore." Her face brightened. "And can you imagine: _me_ staying here not only _at_ the beach, but right _on _it?"

Mark chuckled, and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you enjoy your stay."

Minnie seemed taken aback. "You don't think that I only enjoy it because of the location, do you?" She looked unhappily from Mark to Steve and back, her brows drawn up and bunched together. "I'm enjoying to be with _yous._"

Steve scooted a bit closer, and laid his arm around her shoulder, before she would disappear completely in the tall chair, into which she seemed to shrink inexorably.

"We know that, Honey." Mark kissed her head. "And that is wonderful."

Minnie breathed a happy little sigh. "Good. The beach really is just an incredible extra."

Jesse regarded the three of them, Mark and Steve both sitting closer to Minnie than what would be usual, both giving comfort to the girl with their presence alone.

Jesse knew that. He had experienced that too. - Well, not so bodily and affectionate. But both Sloan men had taken care of him, and it had felt incredibly good.

He smiled, and wanted to contribute. Wanted to be a part of it too.

"The Santa Monica beach is accessible for people with a disability." he said. "There are ramps going down to the water."

Minnie sighed. "Yeah, so I've heard. But Santa Monica is kind of really crowded, isn't it? I would have to stay on that ramp, and would be trapped among a lot of folks who could arrange themselves around me just as they please, and come as near as they feel okay with."

Steve gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

The toast popped out, and he laid them on both plates.

Minnie reached over and held the toast in place while Mark spread the butter.

"What about those beach wheelchairs?" Jesse asked. "They are available at many beaches. And I think they are free to use for anybody with a walking impairment."

"Eww. Them weird things with them huuuge yellow wheels?"

Jesse shrugged. "Yeah. Them."

"They really are totally weird. One kind of lies in them like in a barrow, and one can't even push the wheels oneself. One needs folks who push the barrow."

Steve chuckled, and nudged his plate aside to take Minnie's, to put butter on her toast while it still was warm.

"And I thought they were a great invention for people with a disability." Jesse said in a sobered way.

"Ya well and they might be." Minnie admitted. "I'm sure there are gimps who don't mind being carted around. I mean, there are also those who would use a power chair." she pointed out with a duh-expression. "But I rather prefer to be able to move around on my own. - Especially since I wouldn't have anybody who could push me around in one of them creepy, balloon-wheeled gimp carts."

Jesse gave her his puppy-look, with his brows up over blank eyes, like his brains were slightly overtaxed. "Wow, Political correctness isn't really of overwhelming interest to you, is it?"

"Sure _not_." Minnie replied, almost scandalized.

Steve cast her an inquisitive look, and motioned with the knife at the variety of jellies.

She shook her head, and took her plate back. "This is fine. Thank you very much."

"Honey."

"No really." She took a bite. "This is all fine."

She turned back towards Jesse. "Of course _you _can't go around and call disabled folks 'gimps'. But frankly, I'd rather wouldn't want you to call me a 'person with a disability'."

"Why is that? I mean, it is after all the polite way of addressing it."

"It is in any case a very convenient way of addressing it. This idiot political correctness serves nicely pre-cooked, pre-arranged, and pre-heated little bits of language anybody can just grab, and go without spending the tiniest little bit of thought on the person in front of them, and finding their own good way of addressing somebody. And frankly: what the pop is that supposed to mean? The persons with a disability. They don't belong to us. We are just people, or citizens, and those are people with a disability. The PWD's. Weird, huh? They even assigned an abbreviation to us. Like to one fourteen-syllable space singularity, which is okay to know about, but really too much a hassle to really keep the name in mind."

Jesse cleared his throat. "Then, what would you want to be called?"

Minnie shrugged dismissively. "Miss Minnie seems cool."

Mark chuckled and kissed her head.

"No really." she said more seriously. "I'm disabled. I'm thinking those words were once invented, because they make a whole lot of sense. - Well, though I have to admit that I do see the trouble in the English language. 'Disabled' seems to be taking everything away. In German the traditional term makes it more obvious, that it might be just a partial problem. In German one is just 'hindered'. Which is really fine with me."

"But for instance, when a hotel advertises accessible rooms, don't you think that 'suitable for people with a disability' would be preferable over 'wheelchair accessible'? After all, it is the person who has to get around. And then there are other disabilities."

Minnie tsk-ed. "So, normal people are guests, and gimps are people with a disability who are graciously allowed into the premises, and maybe even to mingle with the normal people? And really: It's just wheelchairs that need accessibility. And of course corresponding disabilities, like leg amputations or so. So when I look into hotel catalogs, all I really need is a little blue symbol with a wheelchair. If wheelchairs can get around, crutches will too. And what else is there to be accessible for? Both arms gone? I'm having a hard time picturing any hotel having sinks and counters so low, that the amputee can easily use his feet to operate things. Really. Accessibility means wheelchairs."

Mark kissed her head again. "Well, seems to me she has a point."

"Yeah." Jesse agreed. "And it seems to be a good one too."

Minnie smiled. "It is good when people think about how to address disabled folks. But don't overthink things. And after all, we are just people. We are no strange species who will declare war on Earth, if not treated properly."

"Well," Jesse rolled his eyes, "there sure are _some._ I mean I had that guy living down the road. He almost used his electric wheelchair as a weapon. He was always going down the road at high speed, and everybody had to jump out of his way. He would crash his chair into displays at the shops, and never did anything else but snapping at people."

"So, and did anybody ever tell him that he should quit behaving like an idiot, or else he would be in trouble?"

Jesse tucked his chin back. "Um no. I mean, he was disabled. He lost his legs in Vietnam. And his wife left him with the kids, because she couldn't cope with the situation. What can you say to somebody like that?"

"That he is behaving like an idiot." Minnie insisted. "Being shocked about a disability is okay. But one should never forget that it usually is harder on the family and loved ones. You are in your own body. You can realize that actually all it takes is some little adjustments, to be able to live with a disability. But it's the people around who just cannot imagine that living with a disability is possible, or even worthwhile. And when the disabled person acts like an idiot, they will never be able to cope. Really. _I _know that I'm fine. So it is _my _responsibility to put other people at ease. - But if I start acting weird, and start throwing fits, and people around me just duck, and take all abuse I might dish out, I can very easily imagine how that could give me some weird sense of power."

Minnie took some sips of her milk, and reached over to hold Mark's second toast in place while he prepared it, then she went on: "Although, that thing works the other way around as well. You know, I'm just not allowed to be in a bad mood out in public. If I had three people parking illegally in blue spots, which made me be late for an appointment, for which I have to take the blame, and then am late to get home anyway, and still have to do the shopping, and again it's people constantly blocking my way with carts, or just standing in the middle of the aisles, engaged in a little chat, I still can't just push a cart aside, or nudge the chatters to move. I have to stop, and say 'excuse me', until somebody is willing to take notice, and move out of the way. If I just push a cart out of my way, you wouldn't think I get an excuse. People just get irritated, and snap at me that there are friendly ways of asking, and they tell me I have no right to vent my frustration about my disability at any passer-by who would never mean harm to me." Her brows furrowed. "Actually I even just have to be in thought, or maybe even just not feel very well. If I don't smile, people think I'm grousing about being disabled."

She heaved a sigh, and leaned back in her chair. "So. Everybody should just spent a couple of thoughts on how their words and actions will be perceived, and there will be a lot less confusion."

Steve scowled. "I can't believe anybody could be so rude to block your way and not even apologize."

She shrugged. "Oh well, I can see they get flustered. It will probably happen only just once in their life that they obstruct somebody in a wheelchair. I'm sure most of them are embarrassed and they just don't know how to react."

"Still." Steve fretted. "You are in a wheelchair, and you are..." cute, his mind insisted on pointing out. And you are so little. People should be taking care of you. - _I_ should be taking care of you.

"People shouldn't snap at you." he muttered.

Minnie smiled, and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. "Thank you."

Then she turned around towards Mark. "You know what you should use? A little board thingy instead of a plate."

"A board?"

"Well, like a cutting board, but just plate sized. If you make yourself a toast, or a sandwich, it won't slide around so much, like on a smooth plate. And if you put some nails through from the backside, it won't move at all. - Not that I mind being your hand." she added.

He kissed her head with a smile, and said: "Well, that certainly sounds like a very good idea."

"Don't you have any nails in your cutting board already?" Minnie wondered.

"No, not yet. Nobody told me so far."

"If you put three nails through, everything will stay all nicely in place."

He kissed her head again. "You are amazing, Honey. I'm gonna call a carpenter right after breakfast."

Minnie tucked her chin all the way back, her brows climbed up, and she sucked her lips. "You call a carpenter to put three nails in a board?"

Mark shrugged nonchalantly, amused by her amused reaction.

"In case it's hard for you, because you are a gimp, you can let me do it." she said, still looking at him from under elevated brows. "I just have to drill in little holes, and then use slightly thicker nails. That's all there is."

Mark dipped his chin even lower than she did. "Drill?"

"As in 'power tool'?" she prompted.

"Well," he burred, like duly smitten with guilt, "as I said, I'm gonna call a carpenter."

Minnie turned around, facing now Steve with a tsk-expression. "You don't have power tools?"

"Erm," He cleared his throat and hastily put his ankle up on his knee. "_I _havean orbital polisher for my car. And a heat gun."

She nodded like she was pretending to be totally impressed, and then looked back at Mark. "Well, you have to call the carpenter anyway, because I figure he will have to cut a breakfast board. You wouldn't want to eat from a huge cutting board."

"That's right Honey. - Now, a second toast maybe?"

"Naww, no thanks."

His look turned instantly worried again. "Just one piece of toast? How can that even_ begin_ to fill you?"

"But I'm having all that milk sloshing around in my tummy." she pointed out.

Mark inclined his head, and put on his best pleading face.

It was so good, that Steve even reached for the toast, before Minnie had actually given in.

She sure didn't feel like eating any more, but she really couldn't stand seeing Mark so worried.

Again she didn't touch any of the spreads available.

"And now you tell me what you like on your toast." Mark said with the gentlest authority.

"No really. Butter is totally fine." Minnie insisted.

Mark smiled utterly unperturbed. "Well, you don't have to tell me." He flicked an imaginary lint off his shirt. "I'll just go on buying stuff, until I hit the mark."

"What? _No_!" she sputtered, absolutely aghast. "Really, you can't do that!"

"Ya well it can't be helped." he said, heaving a huge sigh.

"Strawberry jam." she confessed hastily. "I like strawberry jam."

He chuckled and kissed her head. "_Very_ well, Honey."

"But you really don't have to mind my whims." she whined.

"They sure are no whims." Mark burred. "And we need to draw up a list of what you don't like in your food, so you don't get bad surprises anymore."

"No need to make a _list._ I'm totally unproblematic. I eat almost everything." she assured him.

"Except parmesan cheese."

"Yes and olives. But you really don't have to hassle."

"Parmesan, and olives."

"Well and of course snails." She laid her hand on her stomach. "But you wouldn't eat snails, would you?"

"Yeah," Steve couldn't refrain from rubbing in, "would you?"

"No Honey." Mark burred amused. "No snails in this house. - What else?"

Minnie looked down, and added a bit pressure to her stomach. But of course she didn't feel any of it, and so it just continued to act queasy.

When she looked up again, her brows were furrowed, and her face was white. "Uh, do I have to think about all those orful things now?"

Mark's face fell, and he reached for her wrist to check her pulse. "No. As a matter of fact, I'm ordering you to not to."

"I'm fine." she peeped, and put down her toast. "If I can stop eating now."

"You can. Maybe you want to lie down?"

"No really. I just wouldn't want to go on thinking..." She made a feeble gesture.

"It's okay Honey. I understand what you mean." He rubbed her arm, and tugged her cardigan a bit tighter around her shoulders, holding the delicate fabric between three fingers. "Are you sure you don't want to go in? You are cold."

"Not really cold." she said dismissively. "And being out here, at least above the beach, is really worth a leetle bit of goose skin. I'll spend enough time indoors during the day, and I'm not gonna have this forever."

Well, it wasn't exactly cold, but it was a typical foggy Malibu morning.

Steve reached over, and laid his hand on Minnie's arm, covering it from shoulder to elbow. "You know what? I'll bring up a lounger from my porch. Then you can lie down, and still be outside."

Minnie inhaled deeply, and then held her breath, her cheeks excited pink. "You would do that?"

Chrissake! Steve thought annoyed, Hasn't anybody ever done anything for this little creature?

He let his hand slide down her arm, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I will."

She seemed utterly pleased, but suddenly started. "But only if you aren't going to be late for your job, okay?"

He smiled. "Never worry, I'm not having to drive into the city today. I got transferred to the Malibu precinct to deputize for the captain."

Minnie regarded him with reverent awe. "You got a promotion?"

"Not yet." he said humbly. "For now I'm just gonna stand in for the captain. If I like that job, I'm gonna get the promotion by the end of the month."

"Wow." she breathed, and it stroked his male ego terrifically, that she looked at him like he was Superman, or maybe better yet: Bat Man in his George Clooney incarnation.

"Hey," Jesse fell into his musings, "when were you going to tell us, chap?"

"Relax, Jesse. I only got word yesterday. And like I said, for now I'm just a stand-in. I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to accept the promotion or not."

"And there's still time for that." Mark said decisively. "Now we have to bring Minnie in."

* * *

Steve pulled into the parking lot of the Malibu Police station.

He was by no means excited about his new job.

The one thing really exciting was that Minnie had seen him off with so much pride.

She had straightened his tie, assuring him in her cute way that it was 'totally unnecessary, that it was perfect as it was. Only she always had wanted to do that, but her stupid ex-husband had never worn any ties. And not that that would have made him any more a man.'

Steve smiled. The look in her eyes had made it more than clear that she thought that he was a man, and that she liked that.

He pulled into a free space, next to a flashy red Viper Roadster, at which he cast more than just one appreciative glance.

Wow, this sure seemed to be Malibu police.

He grabbed his jacket from the backseat, locked his car, and headed for the entrance.

Along the front of the building went a narrow strip of fresh green grass, dotted with little white daisies.

Steve stopped in his way, and a smile spread on his face.

And with his thoughts fresh back to Minnie, he entered the low, white building.

Boy, this sure was different. The spacy squad room was neat and tidy, the walls were adorned with art prints,and there were no raving mad drunks raising hell, and clanging their shackles against the legs of their chair.

"Lt. Sloan?"

Steve turned towards the reception desk. "Yes."

The officer removed his head set. "Captain Johnson is expecting you in his office." He tipped back a tiny joy stick on his armrest, and his electric wheelchair backed out from the desk. "I'm gonna take you."

Steve waited patiently for the officer to make his slow way around the long desk, and then fell into pace with him.

"Don't let this serene appearance fool you." the officer said sarcastically. "We are getting a _lot _of burglary alarms around here." He looked up at Steve. "Hope you aren't gonna miss the excitement."

"Actually I'm not expecting too much excitement from this position anyway. And I have to say my life has been sufficiently exciting lately."

"Yeah, how is the Doc?"

"He's fine."

Steve peered at the chest of his escort, and indicated the blue and white ribbon with the number 92 on it. "You served downtown, - officer Brady?"

"Yeah. Back when I still had legs." he said bitterly. "I sure didn't join the force to relay telephone messages."

"What happened?"

"Well, it happened during the riots. Caught a bullet in my lumbar spine." Brady stopped, knocked a door and opened it. "Captain Johnson, Lt. Sloan."

Johnson rose, and came around his desk. "Sloan. Come in. - Thank you, Brady."

Brady left with the electric hum, and Johnson closed the door.

He was a tall, stately figure, barely older than Steve, with his white hair buzz cut short. His usually impeccably upright posture was drawn into a slight stoop of worry now, and even though he had a surfer's tan, his face looked almost gray.

He motioned at the visitors chair with one hand, and offered Steve the other. "First let me thank you for jumping in on such a short notice. I know you are going through harrowing times, and have enough on your own plate."

"Please." Steve held up a hand. "Never mind. My Dad is fine, and I'm glad I can help you out."

Something had changed in Steve. The constant worry about his Dad was gone. And he was actually glad that it was just an amputated arm they were dealing with, as opposed to a brain tumor, like Johnson's son had.

His mom had died of cancer, and he knew how harrowing that was to a family. He couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it would be, if it was the only child who was dying in that horrible way.

Maybe it was a good thing that he didn't have any children of his own.

Too many bad things out there that could happen to them.

* * *

Amanda came into the doctors lounge, her lab coat billowing behind her like the duster of a frontier marshal. "And?" she inquired, shoving her hands on her hips.

"And what?" Jesse feigned ignorance.

Amanda stalked to the coffee maker, poured herself a cup, and perched herself on the edge of the chair opposite to Jesse. "Come on. You've been_ there._ What did you find out?"

"I've been _there_ in my capacity as their doctor, so what I found out is confidential."

"Jesse!" Amanda said warningly, trying to get on top of the younger man, who sat back now.

"Look Amanda. I don't see why you get so het up about this. Minnie is a cute kid, and certainly doing no harm."

"Yeah kid is the operative word here." Amanda pointed out exasperatedly. "For Heaven's sake! Mark could be her _grand_father!"

"So what? _He_ is happy, _she _is happy, and even _Steve _is happy."

"Jesse, what are you talking about?" she hissed. "You mean she's hedging all her bets?"

"I'm saying that Mark is very happy." He stood up and gathered his files. "And I'm saying that you better accept Minnie. Relax. She has no plans to stay. It's entirely Mark's wish to make her." He started towards the door. "And I'm gonna help him in any way I can."

**

* * *

**

"So let me thank you for five years of diligent service. The community is proud of all of you, and I am too." Captain Johnson sighed. "It's been an honor to work with you. But, as most of you already know, my son needs me now."

The crowd of officers made sympathetic noises.

"Lt. Sloan will take over my duties as of today. You will address him as 'Lieutenant', but you will _treat_ him like a captain."

The crowd of officers made affirmative noises.

"Very well." Johnson said. "Dismissed."

He turned, and shook Steve's hand. "Thanks again, Sloan. And if anything comes up, you have my number."

"Alright. And all the best for your son. Our thoughts are with him."

Johnson nodded, and turned around to take the farewells of his crew.

Steve told his adjutant, Lt. Darren Terrell, that he expected him in thirty minutes, and returned to his office. He closed the door, but opened all the blinds.

He didn't like it, but he had to adjust the chair a notch down.

With a fresh cup of coffee he sat down on it, started by changing his password on the computer, and then looked through the active, and recent cases.

It felt strange. In Los Angeles his job had been anonymous. But here in Malibu he knew so many of the names, and was glad that this wasn't homicide. Like Brady had said, it were a lot of burglaries, or just attempted ones, since security is written in caps in this community. There was some car theft, some aggravated assault, larceny and theft were highest in numbers, and there was a total of zero homicides.

Terrell came in with a couple of files, and familiarized Steve with his agenda.

He had a meeting later in the day, with Mayor Tremont and some board members, and started looking through the correspondence and memos. Usually he would have been up-to-date, since his Dad not only was at least a part time member of the council subcommittee for finances and administration, he also played poker with the mayor, as well as a couple of other pillars of the community.

He smiled to himself. Let's see what solution Minnie will find for the card-problem.

Funny. Only four days back he couldn't even _think_ in coherent ways of his Dad, much less expect any solutions available for the tragedy life had forced upon them.

The door knocked, and the slender, blonde officer entered without waiting for the invitation to do so.

"Captain Sloan, why were you in such a hurry to get back to your office?" she inquired, in what Steve definitely perceived as a flirty way. "Nobody had a chance to welcome you like you would have deserved it. We are very proud to have such a renowned officer amidst us now."

"It's _Lieutenant _Sloan," he pointed out, and peered at the chevron on her sleeve, "Sergeant Malloy. - What can I do for you?"

"Well," She brushed her lustrous hair behind her ear, "for instance you could agree to have lunch with me, and a couple of other officers, who would just love to hear about some of your cases. I mean, good Goodness, you are the man who saved Los Angeles from being nothing more but a radioactive crater."

Steve smiled politely, but was all business when he replied: "Afraid I already have plans for lunch. But I will invite the staff tomorrow afternoon to my bar for a drink. - So, unless there is something else, I would like to go back to my work now. I have a meeting in the afternoon."

"Then don't let me keep you." Sgt. Malloy said airily, and shook her hair that was falling in thick cascades down between her shoulders.

Steve watched her through the closed door, as she returned to her desk, shaking her firm little butt in the most appealing way.

"What was _that_?"

Terrell grinned. "Sgt. Praise Dove Malloy."

"You ought to be kidding." Steve said dryly.

"That's why we call her Skeet. You probably saw her car."

His brows arched in surprise. "The Viper?"

"The one." Terrell confirmed. "And I swear she knows how to drive it."

Steve nodded appreciatively, looking out into the squad room, where the Sergeant had her desk.

His adjutant glanced at his watch. "Next up you gonna meet with a Wright Adelman. He's running a butcher's shop on Heathercliff Rd, and..."

"Yes thank you. I know Mr. Adelman."

"Okay. I'll be at my desk, and take your phone calls."

Terrell took his place before the office, and Steve shut the blinds.

Mr. Adelman was of a surprisingly small stature for a butcher, and despite his age of sixty-nine, he still had jet black hair. At least what was left of it. Terrell showed him in, and he stopped dead in his tracks in surprise.

"Lieutenant!"

Steve rose with a smile. "Yes. Come in, Mr. Adelman."

"Now this is a surprise. I haven't heard _any_thing about a promotion."

"That might be because I haven't got one." Steve motioned him to take a seat. "For the next two weeks I'm gonna deputize for Captain Johnson. Then we will see about the promotion." he explained, and was certain that by tonight, when Mr. Adelman closed his shop, most of Malibu would be aware of the change his career had taken.

Mr. Adelman nodded his head several times. "I take it this job will make it a lot more easy to get home in an emergency?"

Steve pursed his lips and shrugged one shoulder.

"You have always been a good boy, Steve."

He nodded briefly. "Now what can I do for you? Is this still about the flour truck?"

"Of course it is. You don't think that Pritchet would give in even an inch!" the elder man lamented.

"Still," Steve told him calmly, "we can't ticket his delivery man. It's a public parking lot."

"Can you imagine what it does to business, if you have a truck blocking your entrance, with running engines and a howling pump that sucks flour out of it for forty minutes? Pritchet knows why he never lets the truck park the other way around, and block his own shop."

"I see your point, Mr. Adelman, but I don't see what could be done about it. Not right away anyway. All shops are eligible to use the space for deliveries. - But I'm gonna have a meeting with Bill Tremont later."

"Tremont plays golf with Pritchet."

Steve pursed his lips over a reassuring smile. "And he plays poker with my Dad. If there _is_ a solution, we gonna figure it out."

Mr. Adelman seemed utterly convinced. "I know, Steve." He stood up and offered his hand. "I'll say a few prayers that you will get this job permanently. This is just what this city needs: a police captain who is one of us, somebody who really cares."

"Well, that narrows it pretty much down to just me." Steve said dryly, since cops usually can't afford to live in Malibu.

"Good." Adelman said pleased.

"I'll let you know what results I might get."

"Thank you very much." The butcher headed for the door, but turned around again before he reached it. "Oh Steve, we're expecting a shipment from Dan Morgan."

"Gee. Pencil us in for the usual Angus."

"Mmm," Adelman wagged his head from side to side, like he was weighing options, "I think I'm gonna add two Kobes, on me."

"Mr. Adelman, you aren't trying to bribe me?"

"I would never. Just expressing my gratitude that Mark is still with us. Give him my best wishes."

"I'll do that."

The door closed, and Steve poured himself a fresh coffee and resumed his work.

And even though he didn't have to use any deductive skills, or kick down any doors, his job was far from boring, and lunchtime arrived a lot faster than he had expected it.

He hung his jacket over his arm, and told Lt. Terrell he would be back in an hour.

At the reception desk he exchanged a couple of words with Officer Brady, about how the first day was going, and then stepped out into the bright, late summer daylight.

"Captain!"

He turned around, and held the door for Sgt. Malloy, who came after him at a light, lithe jog.

"It's still Lieutenant." he reminded her.

"Oh excuse me." She gave him a sideways look with her head inclined almost down to her shoulder. "I just see you as the new captain." She inclined her head towards the other shoulder. "And you will get the promotion, won't you?"

"I will see that."

He started towards his car, but she slid before him to block his way. "What about your plans for lunch? Have they changed by any chance?"

Steve cast a look at the daisies on the green grass, and smiled to himself. "No. They haven't changed at all."

And with a polite nod, that made clear that this conversation had come to an end, he headed for his car, seeing that his strides were so long, that Malloy would have had to break into a jog again to be able to keep up.

He started his car, and with another friendly nod for the Sergeant he drove off the lot.

Chrissake. Maybe he should go over the roster, and assign her to bicycle patrol duty, to keep her out of his hair.

He smiled to himself, pleased by his newly won powers.

At home he parked his car smack up front, where his Dad had used to park his Saab, and took the route around the gatehouse, to enter from the beach side.

When he came up onto the deck, he found Minnie asleep on the lounger, shaded by the garden parasol, and covered with a blanket.

His Dad was sitting at the table, angled towards Minnie, reading a medical journal.

"Hello Son."

"Hi Dad." He looked down at the slight form under the blanket. "How is she?"

"Well, pretty whacked after her physical therapy." Mark burred softly, and closed his magazine. "You want to wake her? Lunch is ready."

He put his reading glasses in his pocket, and went inside.

Steve hung his jacket over the backrest of a chair, and lowered himself onto the edge of the sun bed.

Minnie's small face was white, and she really looked like she needed her sleep.

Very carefully he took her hand in his, and rubbed tender little circles on its back. Despite the heat, and the blanket, her hand felt cool.

"Minnie?"

He cupped her face in his other hand, stroking her cheek. "Wake up, Minnie."

She stirred under his hand, and opened her eyes.

Seeing him and drawing in a deeply pleased sigh was one. Her eyes shone, and her whole face brightened, though no actual smile spread. And other than the other times, she didn't gush his name. This time she almost murmured it, and with another little sigh she leaned a bit more into the touch of his hand.

He smiled, and before he knew it, he breathed a kiss on her forehead.

"You wanna wake up now? Lunch is ready."

She sighed. Do I have to? Can't we just stay like this? Or maybe I can be in those wonderfully strong arms of yours.

"Come here." He slipped his hands behind her back, and gently drew her towards his chest.

Minnie blushed. Oy, had he _heard_ what she had been thinking?

But no. Of course he was just helping her to sit up.

When he sat back again, holding her steady with a hand around her upper arm, his brows crawled up in amused surprise when he saw her rosy cheeks.

"Hm?"

She sucked her lips, shook her head, and laid her hand on his chest, where she wished she could just rest her head against, snuggled up in his embrace. "Nothing."

Mark was standing indoors, smiling pleased to himself. He had nothing to do here. He had just known that his klutz of a son would be a lot more at ease without him breathing down his neck.

Of course he's had no intention to watch.

It wasn't _his_ fault that the open deck door caught a mirror image.

Francine was waiting by the kitchen entrance, the tray still in her hands, but resting on the buffet.

When Mark saw that Steve was pulling Minnie into his lap, he held his breath. Only to let it out again on an exasperated sigh, when his son just got a good hold of his fragile freight and rose to his feet to set her into her chair.

Mark rolled his eyes, and motioned Francine to carry on.

Minnie was still glowing with excitement when he came out. She was impressed to the core that Steve had been able to stand up from the low lounger, even with _her_ in his arms.

"You slept well, Honey?"

"All fine." she purred. "Can you imagine? With the sea breeze right in my nose."

Mark chuckled, and gave her a little peck on her nose. "I'm glad you are happy here."

"Yes." Minnie sighed. "Yes I am."

She looked out at the sea.

Mark waited a moment. Then he asked softly: "And you aren't happy at home?"

Minnie shrugged. "I'm just at home at home. - Hm. Maybe not even that. I don't know. I was at home in Hamburg. I grew up there, had my children there." She sighed again. "It is really pretty where I live now. But it's not my home."

"Why did you leave Hamburg?" Mark wondered.

"Couldn't afford city-living anymore."

Mark took her plate, and held it for Steve to fill it.

"I hope you don't live too far away to see your friends."

She shrugged. "No friends."

"How do you mean?"

Shrug. "Just no friends. I don't see them anymore."

"Do they stay away because of the wheelchair?"

"No. Really. I mean I never had many friends. And it was like I said: seeing friends when one has no money gets really tricky. Hamburg is thirty kilometers away, and I just couldn't afford the gas."

"But they could have come to your place."

"Ya no of course not!" she said, like stating the very obvious. And realizing that it certainly was not obvious to Mark, she felt color creeping back up into her cheeks.

"Is your place ..." Mark tried to find an inoffensive way of asking if Minnie was embarrassed by her place, but she answered without hearing him out.

"It's the only safe place I have." she almost whispered, and her hands began to nervously knead in her lap. "I can't have ... people there."

"But your friends?" Steve inquired gently.

She looked down in her lap. "My husband used to be my friend too."

Her breathing grew as quick as it was shallow, and when Mark laid his hand on her arm, he felt that she was trembling. "Shhh Honey." he soothed her. "It's okay. Don't even think about it."

He scooted his chair another bit closer, and leaned over to take her in his arm. "That is a long way away. You are safe here."

She slumped in his embrace with a quivering sigh, and snuggled her forehead against the side of his neck. "Yes I am."

After another few moments of enjoying the warmth of Mark's care, Minnie sat up straight again, pushing herself gently back from his chest, muttering: "Silly me."

Mark let it slide. He settled back in his place, and nudged her plate, indicating that she should eat now.

"So, Son. How is your new job?"

"Neat." Steve replied. "Different, but exciting in its own right. I hope I can do something for Adelman."

"Is he still wrangling with Pritchet?"

"Yeah."

"Oh I can see why he is upset. I was there a couple of times when the flour truck was there. There is just nothing Wright could do to keep the fumes out, and I swear the cold cuts tasted faintly like flour."

And so that their guest wouldn't feel left out he explained: "Mr. Adelman is the owner of our butcher shop. And last year Mr. Pritchet opened his bakery next doors. Every week he gets his flour delivered by a truck, which always parks before Mr. Adelman's shop, instead of the bakery."

"Afraid there is nothing much that can be done about it." Steve said on a sigh.

Minnie shrugged, poking listlessly around in her broccoli rice and cheese casserole. "If your butcher man had a blue parking spot before his shop, the idiot truck wouldn't be allowed there."

Steve's brows climbed up. "And maybe it is easier than I thought." He gave Minnie's hand a light squeeze. "Great thinking."

Minnie didn't feel like she had done any thinking at all. Actually she had just stated what was the most obvious, at least to her.

"Honey." Mark looked at her from under his brows. "Anything wrong with this dish?"

"No." she said startled. "Absolutely not. It looks great, and smells just delicious!"

"Then you should start eating now."

"Yeah. No."

"Honey but you _have _to eat." Mark insisted gently.

"Ya. But it's still blazing hot." she - well, let's face it: she whined. Then she added in her timid way, by way of explaining: "I'm not good with hot."

Mark grew all mellow, and put his fork down to give her arm a little squeeze. "Well then take your time then."

Of course Minnie knew it was just borrowed time. At one point she would have start to eat.

But she practically still felt all the milk from breakfast sloshing around in her.

"So," Steve said, to change the topic, "did your therapist bring good weights?"

"Pft!" Minnie made a wide gesture. "You won't believe this. It was totally disgraceful. The weights Guillaume brought sure were not pink, but they were baby blue instead!"

Steve chuckled.

"And then I was totally bushed from lifting baby blue weights." she added, sporting her best duh-expression.

Mark chuckled too. "Patience, Honey. Remember? You were very ill only two days ago."

And he didn't even mention last night's crisis.

"Ya well like you say:" she said pointedly, "that was two days ago, and I'm all fine now. - I should have asked Guillaume to leave them blue little thingies. I could very well train a bit while I'm lounging around all day."

Mark chuckled again, but his tone of voice was bordering on serious. "I'm thinking that your physical therapy is enough for you."

Minnie wanted to slump against Mark's shoulder, to eloquently illustrate her frustration. But considering her brace and all, he was sitting just a tad too far away.

So she took hold of the tubing under his seat, and pulled him, chair and all a bit closer, and then slumped with exaggerated exasperation.

Steve gulped down his mouthful of broccoli and rice as not to choke on it, and sat agape. And he didn't even notice that his Dad put his stump around Minnie's shoulders, pointing the ugly scar directly at him.

Mark was trying to contain his laughter, making Minnie's head bobbing up and down where it rested against his chest.

"Geez!" Steve finally managed to bring out. "What do you need training for?"

* * *

Steve was already gone for a while, when Minnie finally finished her lunch, so it had to be Ryan who brought her inside and laid her on the couch.

At one point Mark had assured her that she didn't have to eat up, seeing that she was fighting to get it all in. But she had insisted that she was fine, and had forced herself through the whole helping.

She still insisted that she was fine, but Mark knew better. She was white around the nose, and her smile was forced.

And she didn't feel like staying outside anymore. She was cold, the warm weather notwithstanding, and he feared that the bright sunlight, and its plenty reflections, had given her a headache. Or rather he hoped that it was just the sunlight, and not her spinal fluids.

She wouldn't admit to anything, but the way she had been squinting, and the rigid way in which she moved her head, were enough hints for Mark.

Ryan started a new infusion, and Mark went downstairs into Steve's place, heading for the bedroom.

On his way his mind started seeing little facts. Like that Minnie couldn't get into the house on her own. Not even here, downstairs.

She could get around the house alright, but then the porch was two steps up.

Well, that can be solved with a ramp. The path was trodden gravel. They would have to seal it anyway in some kind of way.

There also was a passage between the garage and the downstairs entry hall. But that too had a step at both ends.

But Steve's closet, he noted pleased, was spacy enough to get around in in a wheelchair.

He sighed.

Why in the world was his son so afraid of the chair?

He opened a drawer, got a pair of Steve's extra warm trekking socks out.

And as an afterthought, he also grabbed a hooded sweater.

Back upstairs he found that the flowers had been brought from Minnie's night case, and were now standing by her side on the coffee table.

He let Ryan put Steve's gargantuan clothes on Minnie, and was pleased to see that at least a hue of color came back into her face. She hugged deep into the soft cotton folds, inconspicuously picking up its scent.

Mark excused Ryan, and sat down by her side. "You wanna have some rest now, Honey?"

She heaved a sigh. "Rest seems to be all that I'm having."

"And you need it." he burred softly.

"Rest is for sissies." Minnie muttered sullenly.

He patted her hand with a chuckle, and got up. "You know what we gonna do? You can help me find a new car, and get it fixed."

He took the laptop computer from the drawer where Steve had looked for it in vain, and held it out for her to open the lid.

"I asked around a bit the other day. It seems that all manufacturers have ways to adapt a car."

Minnie nodded. "Sure. It's quite a market. Why should they leave the money for others to make."

"So, it's just a matter of deciding." He set the computer on her lap again, and angled himself for easy typing. "So what do you think? Maybe a German car this time?"

She bit her lips in slight indifference. "Dunno. What did you have before?"

"A Saab."

Minnie bit her lips even more, dead set on not commenting upon that.

Mark cast her a quizzical look. "Not good?"

She shrugged. "What would _I_ know. I'm a girl. I know nothing about cars."

Trying to keep his chuckles inside, Mark googled for pictures, and clicked on the one that had just the right look. "That's what my car was like."

Minnie drew in an excited gasp, and then looked up in awe. "And is this just the picture, or was your car convertible too?"

"Just like you see it here." he told her amused, and squinted a bit at the screen. "At least I think this is supposed to be black. Mine used to be a black convertible with cream colored seats."

"Wow." she breathed, clicked on the back-button, and then on an image of the boxy, original Saab. "See? This is what I got in my mind when you said Saab. I didn't realize that they have now cool cars."

"Yeah. I really liked it."

"You want to buy one like that again?"

"Who knows," Mark shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not a German car?"

Again she bit her lips.

"Hm?" he prompted her.

"I don't know." She squirmed a bit. "What would you have in mind?"

He shrugged. "Well, BMW, Mercedes, and I think Audi is quite..."

He trailed off when Minnie raised both her hands to her face, her thumbs sticking in tight fists, and with her eyes squeezed shut, she pressed her fists against her forehead.

When he didn't go on, she opened her eyes, but her hands stayed where they were.

"What is it?" Mark wondered amused.

"Erm," She lowered her hands self-consciously, "I kind of wished you wouldn't say Porsche in your list."

"No," he tee-hee-ed, "actually I wasn't."

"Ya and silly me I shouldn't have expected you to." Minnie said contritely. "Look at you. You had the perfect car. It was like how you dress. Expensive, but still casual. And nothing overstated. Just nice. You make it seem like there isn't much thought going into your clothes, but I have a hunch that you know very well that you look just striking best in blue shirts. And picture you in your black car," she went on eagerly. "Black cars are great. They always look elegant. And distinguished. But then goes the top down, and your totally elegant doctor-car turns into a sporty, rakish thing. Gee it's so perfect for you. See? You seem to be this very friendly uncle doctor, in this old fashioned country-doctor way. And the next moment you are the head of internal medicine of a big Los Angeles hospital, totally sharp and up-to-date, and exuding authority. And then, apart from all your serious doctor being, you are this funny entertainer."

"Am I?"

"Ya sure. Your magic you mentioned, and the singing at the hospital party. And then there was that pair of tap shoes in the closet," Minnie nodded towards the one in question, "last night when Steve was looking for the computer. - Right next to that pair of roller skates. I bet you drive Steve nuts with a lot of weird habits. I mean, it sure would drive _me_ nuts if my elderly dad would go rollerskating."

Mark pursed his lips over a grin. "Well, they could be Steve's skates."

"Never. There is just no way Steve would go out with those old fashioned leather things. _Maybe_ he would do some inline skating, but I really have my doubts."

"What do you think is more like him?"

She shrugged. "Boxing."

Mark tucked his chin back.

"Well," Minnie pointed around. "A lot of trophies around here. Some have boxing gloves, or two boxers between the laurels. And you will forgive me when I don't think they are yours, will you?"

He chuckled, and dropped a kiss on her head. "Forgiven."

"And then there are those with a motorbike."

"Right you are. Steve is an avid biker." Mark brushed his fingers over Minnie's rosy cheeks. "Usually he would still be in the Mojave Desert for an annual challenge right now." He indicated his stump. "This is the first year he didn't go."

Minnie sucked her lips, and her eyes strayed to the little bunch of flowers.

Could this be? Could _she_, Minken Doorn, née Doorn, be so lucky?

Not only had she met that perfect man, but he also was miraculously unattached right now.

She breathed a happy little sigh with a dreamy smile.

Then she seemed to realize what she was doing, and tried to get herself composed, and only just politely interested in the matter. "Oh really?"

Mark chuckled softly, and took Minnie's hand in his. "Yes really." he said, and to grant her her mental privacy, he directed the topic away from Steve. "So tell me. What are my other weird habits?"

"Well I wouldn't know." she replied. "But I'm sure you are into a lot of mischief, the way you were delighted that Steve chided you for breaking the computer. And look around: this just isn't the home of a dead-serious boss doctor. You have a bubble gum machine, a skeleton with a hat and a neck scarf in your closet, and all these funny toys and trinkets around. And not to mention the total clutter inside your closets. You are just not dead-serious." she concluded with a pleased note of finality.

"Right you are," he tee-hee-ed, "I'm not."

He called up the web page of the Saab dealership in Los Angeles, and picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" Minnie asked.

"Buying a new car."

"But what about the Mercedesses? Don't you want to see what you like?"

He kissed her head. "What's there to look? I have the perfect car. - Dr. Sloan," he said into the phone. "I need a new 9.3 convertible. - A new model?" He clicked on a tab, and the image of a car appeared on the screen, gyrating around in the most appealing fashion. Only the light green color failed to please the eye, at least on this screen. But the sleek shape let Minnie clap her hands in delight anyway. "Perfect." Mark said into the phone. "I'm gonna need some adjustments for one hand driving. - Yes, my left arm was amputated. - I appreciate that. Now, if somebody could come by to help me with the details... - Yes, today. -Very good. - Any time. I'm here all day. - Yes, Broad Beach Road 30760."

* * *

"Steve."

Mayor Tremont caught up with the Lieutenant, who actually started having enough of hearing the same thing over and over again.

"Hey, when will you decide about the promotion?"

"Who knows? Maybe it's the chief who will change his mind after the two weeks."

"Oh come on. A police captain with a legal degree, _and _a Malibu resident. The chief will certainly not hear any complaints from our side. - So, how is Mark? I hear he was out shopping the other day?"

"Yes he was. He's fine."

"He was back in hospital?"

"Just for a day. He's fine."

Tremont stopped in his tracks, and took hold of Steve's arm. "Steve you would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you?"

"I tell you there is nothing wrong. Dad is fine."

"Why are you so indifferent? Steve, I know you're having the house full of nurses day and night."

Steve rolled his eyes. Wasn't there anything that would stay private in this community?

"Bill. Dad is fine. He needed his lungs tapped, and was a bit unsteady on his legs for a day, but he has already fully recovered from that."

"So why the nurses?"

He sighed. "We have a guest, okay? She is in a wheelchair, and needs medical attention."

Tremont cocked his head in a puzzled fashion. "Uh.."

"Dad is her doctor."

"He's _working _again? But how...?"

"He is a doctor." Steve pointed out, with a confidence he had never dreamed of having. "He has nurses for the handiwork."

"Oh. Yes. Sure. That's - well, that's great news. It's- well, it's an inspiration how Mark handles this crippling injury." Tremont cleared his throat. "Be sure to let me know if there is anything I can help you with."

"You could make sure that that disabled parking spot gets approved." Steve said. "Once our guest starts moving around, it would be a great relief to know that there are enough parking spots available."

"Oh. Yes. I... Tell you what, I'll personally see that it passes."

"Good." Steve slapped his back. "Thanks, Bill."

"My best wishes to Mark." Tremont called after Steve, as he strode out to his car.

Steve slid into the drivers seat, and heaved a sigh.

By the time Minnie would start moving around, she would be going back to Germany.

Dammit!

He drove back to the precinct, and was not surprised, but definitely annoyed to find Sgt. Malloy hovering by the entrance. She was slurping a Diet Coke through a straw, so that her freshly painted red lips would stay intact and enticing, and had brought her body into a position, in which it really brought her curves to bear, despite the unbecoming cut of the uniform pants.

This time he dodged her blatant advances, and spearheaded into his office, where he made it a point to sent his adjutant to order Malloy to come and see him.

He was sitting relaxed at his desk, his legs crossed, studying the female officer head-on through the glass door as she approached his office, which seemed to add to her zip.

She knocked the door, and entered with a flourish.

Steve gave her a tight smile. "Sgt. Malloy, let me remind you that this is the door to your commanding officer's office. It stays shut until you get a summon. And if there is no summon, this door stays shut. Did I make myself clear?"

"Erm, yes of course." she said, clearly surprised by the turn of events.

Steve allowed the slightest frown onto his forehead. "Is that how you learned to address your commanding officer?"

Malloy automatically straightened her posture. "No Sir."

"Good. Also, Sergeant, I'm expecting you to maintain a professional distance, and to not approach me in any undue way. Understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"Very well. Now, so far I've got the impression that your job leaves you a lot of slack. If that is the case, I'm sure the elementary schools will be happy to get some extra traffic safety training."

Sgt. Malloy deflated like a balloon. "I'm sorry Lt. Sloan. I have to apologize." All flirtyness was gone from her voice, as well as from her stance, leaving her with an honest expression. "I knew I've taken it way over the top. But," She offered Steve a sheepish smile, "This flirting thing just isn't mine. I," She held up her hands, and raised her brows in a duh-expression, that reminded Steve very much of Minnie, "I swear I didn't mean to cross a line. I mean, yes, I know I did. But I.." She trailed off, and began anew, still aware that she hadn't acted at her brightest. "Look, Lt. Sloan, embarrassing as it is, but I have to admit that I am completely starstruck."

Steve pursed his lips, letting his expression convey that he was willing to hear her apology, provided it was a good one.

"Lt. Sloan," she went on, "you are the reason why I joined the police. Ever since you and your father solved the Crespi case, back in 1994, and I was a pimply teenager in front of the TV."

Steve was having troubles picturing her as pimply.

"Anyway." Malloy said on a resigned sigh. "When I heard who was going to take over from Johnson," She made a wry face, "I just blew a fuse."

"Okay." Steve said conciliably. "I appreciate it, but I hope this won't interfere with your ability to function in your job."

"No!" Again she held up her hands. "I swear the fuse is replaced, and working great."

Steve nodded, and dismissed her with a smile. "See you tomorrow at BBQ Bob's."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir."

She walked out, closed the door with as little noise as possible, and returned to her desk.

Steve tapped a pen on his desk for some moments.

Then he called Darren Terrell in.

"What can you tell me about Sgt. Malloy?"

Terrell shrugged. "In what way?"

"Does she often - say, get involved with men? Her fellow officers in particular I mean?"

"No way." his adjutant said, like the sheer idea was preposterous. "As far as I can tell she is mostly solo. And _if _she grabs a guy, then most certainly one from the top shelve." He cocked an eyebrow at Steve. "Well, as we could see today."

Steve let that slide. "So usually she isn't known to flirt around the station?"

"I tell you. It isn't so that her fellow officers haven't tried to hook up with her." Terrell waved his hand. "Not a chance. But I gather she hardly has a private life. She often pulls shifts in other stations, when they are short of hands."

"How so? I mean, she sure isn't on the force for the earnings, with a car like that."

Terrell shrugged. "She is no trust fund baby. I think she moved out here to get to know her father. You know, some wealthy guy who knocked her mother up without even knowing, or so. Skeet grew up on the east side. Far from privileged." He grinned. "Don't let her name deceive you. I once saw her handle a bar fight. She is tough, and she's got guts."

Steve nodded his head several times. "Okay." He tapped his pen once more, with finality, and stuck it into the mug that held a handful more of them. "Pull her personnel records on Monday morning."

"Why? Something wrong?"

"Nope. Just have to get to know my crew, and I might as well start with her."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note:** Ah, Gracie's Mom, thank You very very much for saying that. Usually I am absolutely with You, when it comes to unfamiliar characters monopolizing a story. But I feel that Minnie is the best way to transport the sentiments about disability, especially because the Sloans are just no great talkers. Also Mark isn't experienced enough to make all the points.

**Super Human 10**

"So, for the light controls we can either offer a mechanical extension that you could use with your right hand, or we can put a remote control on the steering wheel, on which you could operate most controls with just a flick of your finger. We can also include a remote control for the door, so that it shuts automatically."

Mark seemed enthused by the idea, but Minnie made a yawn motion. "Yeah it's great. As long as you are never in a hurry. Anything powered, in connection with disability, moves at snails pace."

Mark cast Harry, the sales man, an inquisitive look.

"Well, I wouldn't say snails pace..."

"How long would it take to close the door?" he asked bluntly.

"Twenty seconds." Harry admitted.

"And it isn't like you can't use your right arm." Minnie said. "Or you could have a loop on the door, which you could grab with your prosthesis, or reach with your little arm. It would also be easier to reach with your right arm."

"Uh yes," Harry admitted again, "that is so. The loop is of a stiff material, so it sticks out at a height and an angle which is easy for you to reach."

"Then I'm gonna take that."

Harry noted it down. "Then we offer a system that automatically buckles you up. That is, the seat belt stays permanently buckled. But it is attached to the car door, instead of the backrest of your seat. And when the door closes, you are automatically buckled up."

Mark looked at Minnie.

She shrugged. "To me it sounds like a lot of space between attach-thingie and shoulder."

Mark looked at Harry.

"Oh it's absolutely safe." he pointed out. "It's been tested and certified..."

"I'll stick with the regular seat belt." Mark cut him short.

"Okay. Then you have to decide which controls should be operated with the remote. We recommend that the controls for the sound system should be integrated, as well as the climate controls, and those for the car top."

Mark shook his head. "I prefer to stop while the top folds up or down. And to me it seems the remote gets rather crowded already."

"Well yes. Blinker, lights, horn, headlight flasher, window lifter,"

"Excuse me," Minnie interrupted, "but is there a way to get the horn smack on top of the steering knob? You know, just like a trigger on a joystick. I always find it annoyingly difficult to hit a tiny little button when I'm totally agitated."

"I think that should be possible." Harry said, and expected Mark to make the decision.

"Seems reasonable to me."

"Okay." Harry made another note. "And sound and climate controls on the remote?"

"Yes."

"Good. Door lock release on the center console, seat lever on the right side. Hood release stays on the right side. And of course automatic transmission."

"Oh, and I always thought that the seat covers looked a little bit too artificial." Mark said. "I'm sure there must be a better solution for that. Will you be able to handle that, or do I have to take it to a saddler?"

Harry scribbled. "I think I can send somebody with leather samples on Monday."

"Fine. I'll be here."

The sales man gathered up his brochures, and stood up. He said his good byes, and then saw himself out.

Minnie was awed again. "Wow. You can just go and buy a car? Just like that?" She snapped her fingers.

"Yes I could." Mark confirmed amused. "But for this one Chevron is going to pay."

Her eyebrows made a quizzical arch.

"Their driver caused the accident."

Minnie seemed utterly taken aback.

"Honey what's it?" he asked gently.

"Are you talking gas station Chevron?"

"Yes."

"But," her forehead creased with worry, "their drivers don't go around in little cars."

He shook his head. "No they don't." He took her hand, for comfort as his mind returned to the day of the accident. "I was driving along one of their fuel trucks during a bad rain storm. The driver had been texting on his cell, as they found out later. He ran his truck up against the curb, it tipped, and the storm did the rest to flip it over."

She was shocked. "A _tanker_ fell on your car?"

He rub-squeezed her hand and nodded.

"But..." Minnie's eyes filled with tears. "But tankers are..." A sob constricted her throat. "_heavy_!"

"Shh Honey." He picked his hankie from his pocket, and dabbed at her tears. "Like I said: I was really lucky."

"But a _tanker_!" she whined disconsolately.

"It was empty." he burred. And when that wasn't enough to becalm her, he pulled her up on his chest. He refused to even think about letting Ryan help him. His residual limb was still a limb to work with. So he slipped it, and his hand on the other side under Minnie's arms, and found that he had no troubles at all to lift that little sparrow.

He drew up her legs, and tucked her in under the blanket.

She hiccupped another sob. "Tankers are heavy."

"I managed to dive into the passenger seat." The close contact was as much comfort to him, as it was to her. "Only my arm got caught between the roof and the steering wheel. And the gear shift stick hurt my chest." He kissed her head. "But in the end it was the weight of the tank that saved my life, because it acted like a tourniquet and stemmed the blood."

"Still," Minnie peeped, and sniffled.

"Shh." He slipped his hankie into Minnie's cocoon of blanket and embrace, and rubbed her back.

* * *

"Jesse, what are you doing following me out here?" Amanda said testily as she climbed out of her car.

"Who says I'm following you? Maybe I just want to pay a visit to my friends."

"You saw them this morning." Amanda pointed out, and rushed to get in front of Jesse.

"I was here as their _doctor._" Jesse said, not failing to add a tad of suck-on-that to his tone, and scurried after her.

They hastened up the stair, both trying to catch the lead, almost tripping over each other.

With a hearty push of her shoulder Amanda reached the door first, and barged in, calling "Hello!" to announce it was _her _who came for a visit.

And was taken aback when the broad-shouldered nurse stepped in her way, shushing her with a stern look. "Miss Minnie is resting."

Amanda tried to convey her willingness to not shout anymore in passing, but the nurse effectively blocked her way, glowering down at her.

She sighed exasperatedly. "Okay, can we see Mark anyway? We promise we will be quiet as possible."

Ryan nodded, and let them pass.

Jesse made a tsk-expression behind Amanda's back, to make sure the nurse saw that he had learned his lesson, and followed her on tip-toes.

Mark was sitting on the couch, reading again in his medical journal, absently stroking Minnie, who still lay on top of his stomach.

Amanda turned to Jesse, and gave him a '_see?'-_look.

Jesse shrugged.

Mark put his magazine down, and removed his glasses to greet his friends with a smile. "Hi."

"Hi Mark." Amanda whispered with too forced a smile, and awkwardly gave him a light hug. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you."

Amanda couldn't believe that her friend had the nerve to not only not turn a hair, but to also just go on stroking his...eww, she couldn't even bring herself to _think_ about it!

"Darling what are you doing here?" Mark whispered. "It's C.J.'s piano lesson today."

"Yeah. Mother takes him."

He tucked his chin back, and looked up at her from under raised brows.

Amanda plucked up her courage, and carefully sat down next to Mark, angled half to face him. "We have to talk with you."

"Oh." Jesse made sarcastically, and sat down in the gray wing chair. "Now it's 'we'."

She ignored him, and did her best to look at Mark with an honest, open-minded expression. "Yes. We want to talk."

"I don't." Jesse hissed.

"Well." Mark wasn't really puzzled by his friend's strange behavior. "Fire away."

"Say Mark," Amanda would have loved to stall a bit, and take his hand in hers, just to make sure he knew she really cared. But he kept stroking his... that girl's back lightly. She cleared her throat. "Have we been bad friends lately?"

"Darling what are you talking about?"

Amanda was embarrassed, but she definitely felt a pang. For years Mark had called her Honey. And now he suddenly seemed to have reserved that term for his... She inwardly made an impatient gesture. His _girl._

Mark was waiting.

"Look." She put all her love and gentleness in her voice. "I know you are still in shock about what happened. I know that that is a deeply traumatizing event, and needs time to get to terms with it."

Mark sighed. "Only because I had traumatic injury, doesn't mean it has to be traumatizing."

Amanda gave him a blank look.

This was clearly not going as intended.

"Do you realize that you don't even _talk_ about amputation?" Mark murmured softly.

"What?"

"I'm not saying you haven't been good friends lately. You know how much you mean to me." He took her hand and rubbed its back gently. "But it is as it is. There seem to be limitations."

"Mark," she hissed exasperated. "What limitations?"

He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "I'm not taking it personally, Darling." _There! He's said it again!_ "I know that these things need a little time to come to terms with." He cast a look at Jesse. "You heard what Minnie said this morning. It always is harder on the family and loved ones. But for God's sake, it's just an amputation. I'm sorry," he still burred gently, "but it gets annoying when everybody tries to act like the big zit on your nose is not there."

"Annoying?" Amanda repeated aghast.

"Sweetheart, look, I'm fine. But everybody handles me like a raw egg."

"But why didn't you say anything...?"

"That is not so easy. Before Minnie I hardly had a clue how to handle these things." He breathed a kiss on her head. "She is amazing."

That straw broke Amanda's camel's back. "Mark!" She drew back, obviously appalled. "That is no reason..."

Mark gave her a gently prompting look, though her strange behavior now slowly did begin to surprise him. "No reason?"

"Mark," Amanda hissed. "She is just a _girl_. You could be her grandfather!"

His brows went up, and he tried to keep his tee-hee inside. "Amanda," he said most politely, amused to no ends, "do you want to take your mind out of the gutter now? Minnie is just a friend."

"But..." She gestured puzzled at the way Minnie was sleeping.

"She is just starving for comfort." Mark told her gently.

"See?" Jesse piped up.

"There wasn't much to see in what_ you_ said." Amanda hissed, and turned back around. "I'm sorry Mark. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Mark tee-hee-ed again. "Well, I'm very flattered." Another kiss on Minnie's head. "She's a lovely kid. And she is just great to talk to."

"But why didn't you talk to _us_?" Amanda implored.

"Darling I said it isn't very easy, because what you think must make me suffer, and what actually disturbs me in reality, is just antipodal. - And also, I have to admit that I don't know how much strain-" He paused to find the proper wording, "can be taken." He looked her straight in the eyes. "It still can be felt what happened to my family."

"Mark, please." Amanda said with honest affection."Steve apologized, and that is fine with us. Nobody is harboring any hard feelings anymore. We can move on now. Don't worry about that."

Minnie had opened her eyes. "What has happened to your family?"

Mark, usually not known for dwelling on the past, or talk about incidents at length unless it held a mystery, answered: "It was almost torn apart."

"I have a feeling you are talking Jesse and Amanda?"

"Yes Honey. They are my extended family. And my injury nearly destroyed it."

Minnie struggled a bit to sit up, but really couldn't achieve any greater change of position.

Mark kissed her head again, and set her back into the cornerseat, propped up against her pillow. "You know, Jesse performed the surgery."

Jesse squirmed in his seat, clearly uneasy about being reminded of the worst times in his life.

Mark indicated his stump, to make sure it was clear what surgery he was talking about, and went on: "Steve was very upset when he heard about the amputation, and took it out on Jesse. He told him off, and to stay away from me. And that was what Jesse did. He left L.A. But to be frank, I still haven't gathered all the details."

"You mean, you operated on Mark?" Minnie wondered.

Jesse looked like he wanted to jump up and run away. He didn't want to talk about this. They had a silent agreement that this topic was not to be touched.

But Mark gave him an exhorting look, calmly authoritative, impossible to ignore.

"Yes I did." he said, feeling like he was confessing. "Amanda had called me when they had brought Mark in. I had been at home, asleep. And I just didn't think about it. I just felt I had to be there in the operating room."

"And that was good." Mark burred gently. "Jesse is one of the most gifted trauma surgeons I ever knew. Nobody on the team, nor I myself would have dared to exarticulate the elbow. Without him I would have only half of my upper arm."

It was beyond Jesse how his mentor and friend could praise him for what he did, but nevertheless, it soothed his troubled soul.

Amanda's heart went out to her friend, seeing him pitifully small in the big chair, crouching between his shoulders, and she resented the source that made him go through so much pain anew.

"Jesse had performed a miracle in the operating room." she said sharply to make that point crystal clear. "He had fought to keep Mark alive. And when he came out, to tell us that Mark had made it, but that his arm couldn't be saved, Steve just lashed out."

"So?" Minnie said defiantly.

"He was completely beyond reasonable." Amanda retorted. "He didn't seem to have heard any of it that Jesse had just saved his father's life. All he could see was that Jesse had, and I'm quoting here: crippled his father, and butchered him."

"Yeah so what?" Minnie said, with infuriating lack of insight.

"Jesse had just made the hardest decision in his whole life." Amanda bristled. "He was shaken to the core after the procedure. He needed comfort, and not blame and blind rage."

"Jesse is a doctor." Minnie said with a shrug.

"And a damned good one!"

Jesse was mortified by the whole thing. Not only because Amanda went to war for him, but especially because she was fighting with Minnie, which most certainly must anguish Mark. He hated himself for doing it, but in his helplessness he cast a pleading look at Mark, to please put down his foot and stop this before more damage was done to his family.

But to his surprise Mark was completely relaxed. He was sitting calmly between the two opponents. ready to jump in if needed. But with a minuscule gesture and a short glance he asked Jesse to remain silent, and let Minnie extract the spanner from his family's works.

"Only because he is a doctor," Amanda went on, slowly getting into a state as the events of that horrible day caught back up with her, "doesn't mean he isn't human. I know you are having an issue with doctors. But let me tell you: actually it makes him _more_ human. Jesse had put his life into that operation. And he just didn't _deserve _blame."

"So you want to tell me that you expected Steve to be there for his friend, and coddle him up so he could regain his composure?" Minnie inquired, driving the nail deeper into Amanda's flesh.

"At least I expected him to stay civil. You haven't been there." she couldn't refrain from pointing out. "Steve was in a blind rage, and just constantly dishing out blame, to anybody who came into his way. You don't know him. He was ready to _hit _Jesse. He would have added physical injury to what he had already wreaked upon his friend. He was so blind in his rage that I had to sedate him."

Minnie gasped in genuine alarm. "What? You want to tell me that Steve's Dad was lying in a hospital bed, after his arm had to be amputated, after a _tanker_ had almost smashed him dead, and Steve let you _sedate_ him?"

"I had to. Mark was in a state where he would have been highly detrimental to his recovery. We knew when Mark was going to wake up, he would have had enough to deal with. A desolate son was not needed on top of it all."

Minnie gasped again. "You mean you knocked him out, even before he had a chance to talk to his Dad, to see that he was okay?"

"He had our word that Mark was stable, and that we would let him know first when there were any changes. But this is beside the point. The point is that he had banned his best friend, the man who is caring about Mark just like he is his own father, from Mark's room, and from his care. And it was only after the rest Steve had gotten from the sedation, that he realized that he had driven Jesse away. Not only from the hospital, but from L.A., and in fact from California altogether."

Instead of going on on this, Minnie let her gaze drift up to the shelve, where Steve's photo stood framed, showing him proud in his uniform.

"I'm sure Steve became a cop because his world and point of view contains all those pretty shades of gray." she said softly, but well lined with sarcasm.

Amanda was annoyed that she didn't catch that little girl's meaning.

"So," Minnie said, her voice still calm and even. "Steve was called to the hospital, because his Dad had been in a crash, in which he had been buried under a tanker. He was left to his worries, whether his Dad would survive or not. Then he gets told that his Dad had lost his arm, and you freak out because he starts blaming people?"

"It was Steve who freaked out." Amanda said, riled that she was drawn deeper and deeper into this argument. Why did that girl make her spell out all those painful details? And that in front of not only Jesse, but also Mark. And why in the world didn't he say anything? The whole episode had been long since buried away. There was just no reason to put this strain on Mark. "Look, there is no reason to dig all this up again. I'm not blaming Steve anymore. And I give him that he just cannot imagine how it is, when you are forced to maim your best friend, when it was your hand that made the man who means most to you a cripple for the rest of his life. It needed that time-out for Steve to realize what he had done."

"Are you aware of the way you are talking about your best friend?" Minnie asked placidly, putting Amanda off-kilter again. "Do you really see him as a cripple now?"

"I... Why...?"

"I'm sorry, but I found out that often it's the doctors, who have the greatest problem with disability." Minnie looked past the startled pathologist. "Jesse, why were you running away?"

"I... " He squirmed. "I had failed Mark."

"But no you didn't. You did the very best that could be achieved under those circumstances."

"Still. I just _felt _exactly like what Steve then put in words. Can you imagine? Taking off the arm of your friend, take away the hand that had taught you surgery and suturing, and even cooking?"

Minnie's heart went out, and she waved him over, to sit closer to the rest of them.

Jesse made his way with dragging tail and drooping whiskers, and following the pats of Minnie's hand, he sat down on the edge of the couch, next to her legs, facing her.

She took his hands in hers, and looked him in the eyes as she spoke softly. "I can imagine that it is terrible. But actually that is why there are rules for doctors to not operate on family and friends. Still, you decided to bend the rules and go in, because you knew you could make a difference. And you did. You provided your friend with the best stump possible. Are you aware that, especially with arm amputations, the acceptance of prosthetics decreases with every centimeter the amputation goes higher up the arm? The shorter the stump is, the harder it gets to operate a prosthesis. Or even just to wear one." She gave his hands encouraging squeezes. "I wonder, why do you concentrate so much on what you've taken away? While there is so much more that you _gave_ your friend."

"I haven't given him anything." Jesse said with sudden desperation. "You don't understand this. I took away his _arm_! You need your hands for _everything._ It's completely different from paraplegia. _You_ can still get yourself dressed, and wash your hands and go to the..." The words got caught in his throat, and his eyes grew red. "I have turned Mark Sloan, the man everybody looked up to, into a helpless ..."

"Sh!" Minnie cut him short, surprisingly sharply. But when she spoke, her voice was still soft. "Is that really how you see him?" She turned, and for the first time included Mark into this, letting go of Jesse's hand to loop her arm around Mark's stump. "What do you see: a helpless victim, or a survivor?"

Jesse looked down into his lap, unease tingling all over his skin.

He had fooled himself into believing that they had come to terms. And it had worked, as long as nobody had touched the delicate scab that had closed the deep wound in their family.

Now it lay open again, exposed to bright lights of reality, and maybe even infected.

Minnie took Jesse's hand back, and pulled, struggling to sit up straight.

Mark helped with a push on her back.

Jesse looked terribly forlorn, and Mark thought that Minnie wanted to draw him into a hug, to console and comfort him.

But instead she snuggled up against Jesse's chest, tucking her arms in between them.

And his mustache twitched with a little smile, when he saw how his protective instincts kicked in immediately. He wrapped his arms around the little person, and alone that he was, compared to her, tall and broad, made him feel responsible, instead of sorry for himself.

"You know," Minnie said, barely audible now through the embrace, "once you have plucked up the courage to look, to _really_ look at Mark, you will see that he hasn't lost anything. And once the cruel voices in your head have ebbed away, I hope you will hear it when Mark tells you that he is fine. Because he really is. The only injury that can bring him down, is the one to his family. His arm is fine. It's just little now."

Amanda looked down at her hand, which Mark held in his, tenderly rubbing it with his thumb. And she looked at Jesse.

Jesse seemed relaxed.

Steadier than before.

And yet...

"Excuse me, Minnie, but you cannot seriously think that a major amputation can be taken in stride."

She may as well could have just said 'I hate Minnie', because the effect couldn't be any much different. Mark's thumb stopped moving, and even though he didn't even frown a fraction, his steady blue gaze seared right through her soul.

And Jesse? Was he protecting Minnie from her?

She almost gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry I have to be the spoilsport, but since this seems to be the point to come clean I just have to say you don't know Mark anywhere near well enough, to make statements like that." She tried to ignore his look. "And you are no doctor. A patient goes through several stages after an amputation, from shock, to denial and grief, anger and bargaining, until the patient will slowly reach a level at which he can accept the disability, and move on from there. If you knew Mark any better, you would know that he is a notoriously uncooperative patient, and if you had been around a little longer, you would have known that he has canceled his psychological counseling. I'm afraid he is still stuck in denial, and you aren't helping him a bit by pretending that a crippling disability is a cakewalk. One day reality is bound to set in. And the longer Mark goes untreated, the harder the impact will be. And you should know what I am talking about." she added pointedly. "Do you really want to be responsible when Mark is in the same desolate psychical state like you are now?"

"Amanda that is enough." Mark said calmly, but with a distinct edge to his voice.

"No Mark now you listen to me. These things can't be cured with just a hug. Minnie," She turned to face her. "I appreciate that you want to help. But it can't be done without professional help." She leaned forwards, to illustrate her urgency. "Why don't you grab this opportunity and seek psychological support now?"

Jesse felt Minnie stiffen in his arms.

"Amanda, I said that is enough." Mark repeated.

"It would be good for both of you. Minnie, we have a very renowned psychological ward..."

Minnie gasped, and strained against Jesse's arms.

"Shh Honey."

"Mark, can't you see what's going to happen? Look." Amanda stood up. "I'll get your bag."

Minnie shook like a leaf. She was trapped! She was surrounded by doctors, and Amanda was quick with her needles she knew. Tears blurred her sight, and she tried hard as she could to get away from Jesse.

"Mark." she sobbed in panic, "Mark!"

"What in the world is going on here?" Steve's voice rose ominously over the melee, and he glowered at the scene from under a minatorial frown.

Jesse let go of Minnie with a start, and she flopped limply back into her pillow, sobbing, and shaking all over.

Steve didn't wait for an answer. He stooped over the backrest, and scooped Minnie up into his arms.

She breathed a quivering sigh, and clutched two fistfuls of his shirt, holding on to it like to the only life belt that could keep her from drowning.

Relieved to feel her shaking cease, he gave her a reassuring kiss on her forehead, and carried her away.

* * *

Steve held Minnie safely cradled against his chest, and descended the stair down into the backyard.

He would have liked to go on, take Minnie down to the shore. But the way she was still trembling he really didn't want to take her too far away from his Dad, and possibly quick medical intervention.

He pulled up his knee, to rest Minnie on while he got his keys out, and then unlocked the french door of his bedroom.

The light curtain billowed in the breeze when the door opened.

The tall, wooden bed with the high headboard was standing facing the window wall, though the beach couldn't be seen from down here. The dune in front of their property shielded the ground floor from views.

Steve laid Minnie down, and tenderly brushed her hair behind her ear.

She was still tensed up, but her eyes were focused on his face, with a faint hint of awe behind her fright.

Amazing as it was, she seemed to feel safe with him, for reasons he just could not fathom.

He turned the bed spread over, and pulled the covers from the other side, to get Minnie covered. She seemed to be cold, despite her warm clothes.

A smile dared to tug at the corners of his mouth, when he saw his huge socks on her little feet, and his sweater, which went almost as far down as the socks came up.

He put his gun into the drawer of the night stand, to make himself least threatening, and sat down on the edge by Minnie's side. "You okay?"

She nodded, but the motion was still jerky.

"Want me to close the door?"

She shook her head.

"Anything you need?"

Minnie shrank behind a bunch of blanket, behind which Steve knew she was sucking her lips. Her brown eyes were wide, almost like with an unsaid plea, and her hand slipped out from under the covers. It sought his, and when they met, she took a firm hold of three of his fingers.

He relaxed with a very soft chuckle, lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it lightly, and then took her hand in his.

She breathed a little sigh, and closed her eyes.

A very light knock came from the door, and Mark's soft voice. "Steve, how is she?"

Minnie's eyes flew open. "You aren't thinking that I'm scared of you, are you?"

Mark stepped into the room. "Honey, it amazes me that you aren't." He held up his bag, still approaching her with caution. "I'd like to make sure you are okay."

Minnie nodded. She would have presented her arm to him, knowing he was going to check pulse and blood pressure, but having her hand held by Steve was just too incredibly good, and she wanted to enjoy it to the greatest extent.

But well, Steve had to make room for his Dad, and so let go of her hand anyway.

Well, he didn't just let go. He breathed another quick little kiss on it, and then carefully laid it back on her stomach, like it was something very precious.

Mark pretended to be concentrated on his bag, but out of the corner of his eye he was following every little move.

Despite his sense of dread after Minnie's latest clash with anxiety, he felt his heart fill and widen with warmth at that little gesture.

For more than thirty years he had seen his son mess up - well, date after date, because he hardly ever got so far as to call it a relation. And he had almost come to the point where he feared that his son just wasn't able to feel and experience love in the same way like he had, and in fact, most all people in the world do. Only when Lily Wilson had died, he thought he had caught a glimpse of it in his son.

But he had never seen Steve in need of physical contact, like right now. He had scooted down a bit, and was now sitting by Minnie's feet, his hand resting on her ankles.

And given his unease towards disability, that must mean a lot.

But he could dwell on that later.

Now he had to see that Minnie was okay.

A frown manifested itself right away when he checked her pulse.

Again she was massively tachycard. But her blood pressure was just way too low to treat her with nitro spray.

Well, away from the source of her anxiety, she would calm down probably in about the same time anti arrythmic agents would need to take effect. So no need to stress her system additionally.

Hopefully.

He studied her pale face, and knew she would have to take a turn for the better soon.

"Honey you can tell me what day is today, right?"

"Ya well Friday."

"The date too, please?"

Eww, the date. Let's see. I know for certain I came here on... August - twenty seven. Ya. - No! Twenty four. Oy. Always mix up those two. - Rats! Of course it was twenty seven. It was _really_ close the end of the month. Okay then, arrived here on Sunday. Monday, got the car and stopped at the fashion shop. Tuesday, _met Steve!_ Automatically a smile spread on Minnie's face.

She looked up. "How many days does August have?"

"Thirty-one." Mark informed her with a relieved chuckle. Since he was trying to establish whether the tachycardia was impeding Minnie's abilities to think and understand by undersupplying her brain, he has been alarmed when she had just fallen silent. But apparently her brain was very active, and she started ticking off her fingers now.

"Well, if you don't know the date exactly," he said gently, "then just tell me, what equals 8x8?"

Ewww! Can't I just go on figuring out the date? I almost had it. Humph. Eight times eight. Why couldn't he ask something I could approach from the other side. Phew, let's see. Five times eight equals forty. Six times equals forty-eight. Plus eight, Her fingers came up as she counted: forty-nine, fifty. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four...

"Erm, maybe you just want to tell me your date of birth?" Mark offered amused.

"Ah, hm, ya. Maybe I should. Because now I lost track anyway. I came to fifty-four, which is almost seven times eight. But I tell you, this is really tricky. The row of eights has never been my friend. And then there was no other number to cling to, like for instance the nine. Nine times eight would have been so much better. I like the row of nines. It is so pleasantly steady in the way it wanes, isn't it? Just like the elevens. Only of course they grew stronger with each new number. Really. I would have been way quicker if you had asked something else. Only surprisingly, seven times eight wouldn't have made it any better. You know, the row of sevens is my favorite row. Only of course I can't say it in English. But in German I'm fabulous at it. Only eight times seven is always hard to come up with. Forty-two, forty-nine, that is a good unit. But the.. fifty-six never comes easy. Even the shade of red recedes to a faint pink on that number. But then comes sixty-three. I love the sixty-three. I can cling to it after the struggle for the fifty-six. It's always there, waiting for me like a safe haven. And it feels so nicely soft, round-bellied as it is."

Mark had listened with his brows arched all the way up, relieved, interested, intrigued, and amused at the same time.

"Honey your numbers have colors?"

"Yeah. At least those rows. My teacher used to think I wanted to say the row of fives, because it is so easy. But actually I really liked the fresh green grass color of it. I mean, it actually is green grass. And the twenty-five even comes with daisies. It is so pretty. Though, sadly, it doesn't work in English. But usually, in German it always is a relief to come to the twenty-five, because I really am not good with numbers. Total washout at maths. But the twenty-five is so pretty."

"So, is the whole row of sevens red?" he asked, purposely using her own terminology for the multiplication tables.

"Ya weird, huh? I don't even usually like red. But this kind of just stands out. And the sixty-three has a really very saturated red, and even feels a bit like velvet."

"What color does the row of two have?"

"Yellow."

"And the row of nines?"

Minnie scratched her head. "That's totally weird. It is like brown balls, with the number painted in black on them. And I plain don't like brown really."

"And the row of threes?"

"Blue. But a lamentably faded kind of blue."

"The row of fours?"

"Oy." Minnie tucked her chin back. "That's red again."

"And the ones?"

She creased her brows. "No color. The numbers are just like acryllic. You know, like decorative plastic things you might put on a shelve. And the weird thing is, the numbers always come from the left side as I recite them. Usually the rows go away to the right side."

"And the row of eights?"

Minnie inhaled, but then let her breath out unused. "No color." she said surprised. "Though the eight feels good. Wooden. Or sometimes stony. Like pebbles on a Danish beach. You know, gray."

"But you aren't hearing any tones with the numbers?"

She gasped startled, and instantly tensed up. "Are you thinking I'm daffy?"

"No Honey! No." he assured her, and for a second even thought he should get up and get away from her, just to demonstrate that he was no threat. But that thought discarded itself immediately. If he would put a distance between them, he felt it might put a strain on the bond between them. So he slipped his arm under her back, and gathered her up against his chest, kissing her forehead. "You aren't daffy, Honey. I just think that you literally have a wonderful mind."

He rubbed her back with his stump, and really missed his hand now. "And you know what? I can feel truth, and lies." He kissed her head again. "I don't know exactly what it is what I feel, but sometimes I just can tell."

"Wow." Minnie breathed in awe.

* * *

The traffic light at John Tyler Drive turned yellow.

Agitated as Amanda was, she was dead set on making it through the intersection, and stomped on the accelerator.

Then her manners caught up with her, and she slammed on the brakes.

Tires screeched behind her, followed by annoyed honks, but no crash, which she actually had expected for a moment.

Goddammit that's what you get for taking your emotions into the roads, she thought disgruntledly. I'm a doctor. I shouldn't put people's lifes or health at any kind of risk.

Especially not the health of already ailing patients, who also happen to be her best friend's friend.

What in the world had happened at the Beach House? Mark had explained the situation, and it was more than satisfactorily. He wasn't having an affair with Minnie.

So why was she so irked?

She certainly knew that Mark Sloan is a compassionate soul. It wasn't the first time he had taken a chance acquaint under his wings, and gone out of his way to make things better. A random name that would come to mind was George Karn, a convicted alleged murderer of his own wife, who had taken Mark as a hostage at the hospital, and ended up as his friend. Mark had even been arrested for sheltering him, during his quest to find the real killer.

So what was so different this time? Because Mark was giving actual, physical comfort?

Or was it the sheer abundance of it?

As compassionate as Mark Sloan is, he also was quite detached in a way. Despite the deep love that was the foundation of his relation to his son, they just simply never hug. No matter how close either of them might have come to death, a clap on the shoulder was all that there would be.

Of course she herself had received wonderful, soulwarming embraces from her friend and mentor. But of course she had to be attacked by some sociopathic nut job before.

Amanda sighed. So was that it? Was she really just simply jealous? Did she really think it was not fair that that little girl got so much, after knowing Mark for only just four days?

She felt like kicking something. Best would be her own behind.

She had been so afraid when she had seen him react to his daughter's death, or rather his disturbing lack of reaction. For a day he had just sat and stared, his body language forbidding even the slightest comfort offered.

And then he had just carried on, doing what he always did, solved her murder.

He had locked up all pain in some distant corner of his heart, from where it seemed to have no power over Mark, but yet seemed to have dimmed down the light in his eyes.

And that light was back now.

No matter whether she thought it was possible, or not. But Mark Sloan was happy.

She did a U-turn at Carbon Canyon, and sped back the way she had come.

* * *

When Amanda came back into the yard of the Beach House, she found Jesse's car still parked where it had been before, and him pacing aimlessly around.

"Jesse what are you still doing here?" she asked, climbing out of her tall SUV.

The young doctor remained uncharacteristically mute, and just shrugged his shoulders.

"You haven't left at all?" she inquired gently.

He shook his head, looking down at the tips of his shoes.

Amanda sighed, and rubbed Jesse's arm. "I've made quite a mess of this, haven't I?"

Jesse looked up. "No. _We _did."

"Come on." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and gently dragged him along. "Let's see if we can get past that nurse once more."

Slowly, much more sedate than last time, they ascended the stair side by side, and when they reached the door, Amanda knocked it firmly.

When nothing moved inside, she decided to use the knocker, if only cautiously.

Still nobody answered.

Amanda glanced at her watch, and bit her lips. "I hope I wasn't too hard on Minnie." She shook her head. "Jesse, I'm a doctor! I've seen her pallor. I practically felt her going into tachycardia. And I still had to deliver another blow?"

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. "It seems we both haven't exactly covered ourselves with a lot of glory lately."

Deflating with a heavy sigh, Amanda sank down to sit on the top step, hugging her knees.

Jesse cast another look in, but couldn't catch sight of anybody.

"Can you imagine," Amanda said, turning, but not looking at him, "can you really imagine how it would be to live with only one arm? Every day all day I notice things that can't be done without a second hand. If I would write them all down, I would have filled a book already. Sometimes I put my hand behind my back, and try to get along. But it never takes me more than five minutes to reach the limits, when I just _have _to use my second hand."

Jesse nodded. He had tried the same thing, and five minutes sounded like a record to him.

Amanda laid her forehead on her hands. "I just can't get my mind around it. Just think: you wake up, and you are disabled. Everything had been just as usual when you woke up in the morning. And only a couple of hours later you are a cripple. Your whole life gone, in only just a matter of hours. Jesse, can you really imagine that?" Tears started rolling down her cheeks. "You wake up, and a part of you is gone. Forever. You have been head of internal medicine when you entered your car, and when you wake up, you are a person with a disability."

"Hey," Jesse said softly, and sat down by her side, putting his arm around her shoulders. "shhh. The important thing is, that he did wake up. He is not dead. And I have a feeling that this man is going to surprise us a couple of times."

Amanda searched her handbag for a tissue, and blew her nose. "I know. I'm grateful that he didn't die, but... I can't help myself," she sobbed. "I keep wondering if it is a life still worth living."

"Shhh." He soothed her again, and drew her in a tighter hug against his chest.

"Can you imagine all the things he must miss now?"

Jesse patted her back. "Amanda, you know what he misses most?"

The tone in which her friend was speaking, made her look up.

"He misses being seen as Dr. Mark Sloan."

"But he..."

"You should have seen him in the emergency room. He put a port into Minnie's arm, and drew the bloodsamples." He took a gentle hold of Amanda's arms, rubbing them with his thumbs. "He still is Dr. Sloan. And Minnie sees him like that. I tell you. In her eyes, he is a hero, while in our eyes..." He sighed. "I think she is right. We only see the cripple in him."

More tears welled up in Amanda's eyes, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh Jesse, what kind of friends have we been?"

Again he rubbed and patted her back, offering supportive comfort.

At least to her.

"Can you imagine?" he said softly. "It happened almost six months ago, and this is the first time we are actually talking about it."

Even before he had finished the sentence, Mark's voice was back in his head. _Do you realize that you don't even talk about amputation?_

No. Ever since, the amputation had been the baleful **IT**. The **IT**, that was not to be named.

The zit, that was not there.

The door opened. "What are you two doing sitting outside here on the stair?" Mark wondered.

He came out, and sat down on the other side of Amanda, who was trying to compose herself into her usual self.

"Now what is it?" he burred softly, and cupped her face into his hand, making her gently to face him. "Why didn't you come back in? Or rather, why did you leave at all?"

"We thought it would be better for Minnie." Jesse offered.

"Minnie is with Steve. She is okay."

"I was sure you didn't want us around after what I did." Amanda blurted out. "But then I simply _had_ to come back. Only, nobody opened..."

"Honey." Mark said softly, and Amanda felt a completely irrational rush of relief surge through her body. "Since when do you need an invitation into my house?"

"Well," She was close back to tears again. "the nurse..."

"Of course he sees that Minnie doesn't get disturbed. But that doesn't mean you aren't allowed into my house." He pulled her into a hug, using only his good arm. "Hasn't it been said often enough today?" he burred. "You are my family."

Amanda slumped in his embrace in a mixture of joy, relief, and a terribly guilty conscience, unable to stop now the tears that had been waiting to be shed for a half year.

"Come on now." Mark murmured, and struggled a bit to stand up without really letting go of her. "In with you."

"Is Minnie okay?" Jesse asked.

"We put her on a new round of infusions." he replied, and picked up a glass from the side table. "And I'm just bringing her her Sprite."

"Tell her I'm terribly sorry." Amanda said, her voice thick with tears still.

"Oh why don't you tell her yourself?" Mark suggested gently. "She will be very happy to hear that you don't dislike her."

Without waiting for - possibly negative- answers, he headed cautiously down the curved staircase.

He thought it was strange, but his missing arm affected his balance just enough, to make him slightly uneasy on stairs, despite him having danced all his life.

Jesse led Amanda with his arm around her shoulder, and stuffed her used tissues into his pockets.

They crossed the huge, dim livingroom in silence, bar Amanda's occasional snivels.

Ryan was sitting outside Steve's bedroom, finishing up the report of what had happened, and how Minnie was being treated.

As Mark approached, Ryan knocked the door once, and opened it for him, so he wouldn't have to hassle with the door knob.

And as the door swung open, Mark caught a glimpse of his son backing away from his position close to Minnie, withdrawing his hand from her head, as if he were caught with it in the cookie jar.

Mark breathed a little sigh, and rolled his eyes maybe a teeny bit, but was all smiles when he handed Minnie the glass. "Hi Honey, look who's here."

She did look, and was taken aback when she saw Amanda so unhappy. "Goodness, what happened."

"Actually I'm not quite sure about that." she replied. "I have no idea what possessed me to attack you like I did, but I know for certain that I owe you an apology."

"What? No! You didn't attack me. It was just a discussion. It's not _your _fault that my body has turned into a complete sissy."

Amanda tried a wry grin. "I think there is more."

"What more could there be?" Minnie genuinely wondered. "There really is nothing that happened that should make you cry. It's..." She trailed off, and added with elucidated relief: "Ohh, this isn't about me."

Ya well, no. This was about Mark, and how she had treated her best friends. And the thought threatened to bring more tears.

Minnie looked at each of them in turn. "Oh, you haven't talked about what had happened at all, have you?"

"We made up." Amanda said, her voice unsteady. "And just went on from there."

Minnie reached out for Amanda, wriggling her fingers, and was obligingly helped to sit up.

Again, instead of drawing Amanda into a comforting hug, she let herself flop forwards, snuggling up against her body.

Well, a good thing it had been her intention anyway, because sitting up really caused Minnie's head to reel.

Amanda tucked the slight body against her chest, and began to feel what Mark's infatuation with this little thing was about.

"You had terrible things happen to your friendship, and you never worked them out?" Minnie said, her voice almost too soft to be heard. "You are doctors. You should know that when you have an infected wound, you can't just wipe it clean, and then suture it up. You have to cut it wide open, remove every bit of the infection, disinfect it thoroughly, and then stuff the cleft with gauze, so it can heal up from the bottom. And you have to keep rinsing the cleft with disinfectant solution every day. To me it seems there have been a lot of misunderstandings between you, that are still infesting that wound in your family."

Mark chuckled softly, and kissed the back of her head. "Yes you are right, Honey. But I'm afraid the Sloans have never been known to be great talkers."

"Well," Minnie shifted a bit in Amanda's embrace to look at Mark, "people who have infected wounds usually weren't known to be great rinsers of deep gashes in their flesh before either. - You know," She pressed back from Amanda's chest, to be able to address them all. But with her supporting embrace gone, Minnie began to sink sidewards.

"Hey."

Three hands caught her safely, and Amanda lowered her safely back on her pillow.

"Oy," Minnie muttered. "My balance sure is screwed now."

"Yes Honey." Mark agreed softly, and lifted her hand by her wrist, so that he could feel her pulse while he dropped a little kiss on her hand. "But you'll get used to it."

He knew that her balance had nothing to do with it.

Her pulse wasn't fluttery, and at least not too shallow.

"Tell you what Honey. We gonna talk about it. Promise. But now I'm gonna see to dinner with Jesse and Amanda, and you stay with Steve and have some rest, okay?"

"Okay." she purred, not at all unhappy with those arrangements. Sure she would have loved to help Mark in the kitchen, but who would argue when she could be here with Steve?

He gave her a kiss on her forehead, and ushered his friends out.

"She's been on those infusions for two days straight." Jesse said, as soon as they were out of earshot. "How come she's still so weak? Or rather growing even weaker?"

"I don't know Jess. But her panic attacks take away great chunks of what we put in. And I'm not liking it very much that I'll have to take her back to the hospital. But we have to check her kidneys."

"Yeah. With her b.p. that low she's almost bound for renal failure."

Mark heaved a sigh so heavy, that Amanda gave him a tight squeeze around the shoulders. "She is a tough kid, Mark. I'm sure she's gonna make it."

He nodded gravely. "I pray. - Jesse, you bring a portable ECG unit tomorrow. And I want a mobile defibrilator. One with stick on electrodes, so I could use it. Just to be on the safe side."

"And just in case I'm gonna make sure all personnel knows she's got to be treated with extra care." Amanda offered.

"Thank you Honey. That would help. It was total disaster when she got sedated."

* * *

Steve had no idea why his Dad had chosen him to stay with Minnie, when three doctors were at hand, but he couldn't say that he was malcontent.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and carefully sat her up again, so that she could drink.

"Did you call your family?"

"Ah, ya, no."

"You should, there is just no way you can travel back in only a week."

Minnie made her usual dismissive gesture. "I'm fine. I was just a tad indignant, back upstairs."

Sweetie, I want you to stay. his mind said in an earnest fashion, and then added, just to point out that he was only fearing for her health: you are in no condition to go on a flight half around the world.

"You should call them." he said again, without any urge or pressure. "Shouldn't they know what happened?"

Ewww.

Minnie flinched involuntarily.

"They'll just worry. And the sooner I call, the_ more_ time there is for Eske to worry."

"Don't they worry anyway when they don't hear a peep from you?"

"Naww. I'm not supposed to call. You know, it would be half my piggy bank to place a long distance call. - And picture the fright they'll get _if_ I call. They'll think it's something totally serious."

Steve still held her by her upper arms, his thumbs moving in tender little circles, while his lips pursed over little smile.

Of course he knew that it was something 'totally serious', but Minnie's refusal to accept that it was, was just too close to his own behavior in sickness or injury, to be able to judge her. Or even willing to.

He gave her a kiss on her forehead, surprised that it wasn't after all all that hard, and held her again at armslength. "So how are you now?"

"All fine." she purred.

"Strong enough?"

Minnie began to shove the brobdingnagian sleeve of Steve's sweater up her little white arm, until her biceps was exposed, and flexed it eloquently. "All strong."

Steve bit his lips as not to start to snicker, and Minnie very much liked how his nose got all crinkled up in the process. He couldn't resist, and took her upper arm between delicate thumb and forefinger. And he wasn't surprised that the muscle was like a rock.

Still leaving Minnie in the dark about his intention, he stepped outside and had some words with Ryan, who then followed him back in, and removed the infusion again.

"Come on." Steve slipped his arms under her, and scooped her up into his arms. "The sun is going to set."

She didn't dare to breathe.

Wow, Steve was taking her out, actually and really to the beach. Not near it, or above it, but smack on it!

Her excited pink cheeks made Steve smile, and he loved that he could do something for her he knew she really enjoyed.

He stepped down from the porch into the backyard, and let her open the gate out to the beach.

Through the scraggy growth of weeds on the dune he climbed the path, and then went down on the other side, all the way down to the driftline.

Minnie was nearly thrilled out of her head, and Steve almost began to worry that the breast plate of her brace made it just a notch too hard for her to breathe. But when they came down to the water, she calmed down completely, and just took in the scenery, breathing the salty air utterly calmly.

"This is amazing." she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the roar of the incoming surf, and happily snuggled her head against Steve's shoulder. "How beautiful. Look, the water is actually blue, and you can see all kinds of shades of turquoise in the surf, before it turns into that dazzling, total white at the crest. Where I live, the ocean all about gray and melancholy. I've never seen the north sea blue. On real fine summerdays it gets to bluish greenish grayish, but never so brilliantly blue like this. And the sand is different too. Ours is yellow. At least in my area. It gets white like this here further up north. And we sure don't have people living on the beach." she now pointed out, casting a look back at the endless row of houses, standing shoulder to shoulder, dividing the beach from the steep cliffs behind like the Berlin wall. "The ocean is considered dangerous in my part of the world, and all houses duck behind a levee that's going all along the coast."

"Well, I figure the people who live up there," Steve pointed his chin towards the west, where a projection terminated the beach. "will agree that the ocean is dangerous. Up there most of the beach has been eroded away, and the homes there have protective concrete walls, so the owners don't get wet feet in winter. They have to climb down ladders, to get to the beach." And just to make some kind of a point he went on: "Well, you find that all along the Malibu beaches. Malibu Road has at least a little bit of sand left, though you don't have to wait for the winter storms to see water coming up to the threshold. But if you take the houses under Tuna Canyon Park, whew, that's wet living. No beach at all. Just some pebbles. The houses are built on stalks, and the Coasthighway is running across their doorstep."

He turned around, so that Minnie had a good look. "Actually this one of the safest places for a beach house in Malibu."

Unless the big earthquake hits, and the sand under our hose turns into soup. he added wryly in the privacy of his own mind.

But who would want to think of something like that on a day like this?

He slowly walked back, towards the two wooden beach chairs standing some yards before the dune.

Minnie was utterly impressed. He was holding her cradled in front of his -wonderfully broad- chest, and hadn't even once given her the slightest hoist, to renew his grip on her, nor were the veins on his neck standing out any real great deal. He could talk, without the least little signs of strain, and that even while he was walking on loose sand.

She actually leaned over his hand, to watch him walk on this tricky ground, and it all just added to her amazement, and of course admiration, of which there was a lot of in her face, when she looked back at him again.

"You are a surfer, aren't you?"

Steve smiled. "What gave me away?"

For a moment Minnie got carried away, and said almost dreamily, while she had her hand on his chest: "I don't know, maybe it's that sea breeze in your eyes." And getting a grip she added: "Or just the practised way you walk on sand. Or I can just picture you grabbing your board at the fresh of dawn, and ride some waves befor going to work. - Although I really hope you prefer the bigger waves at Surfrider Beach."

"As a matter of fact, I do." he told her amused. "Why?"

She srugged airily. "More testosterone."

He laughed, and somehow another little kiss found its way on her forehead.

And she didn't seem to mind at all.

They reached their destination for now, and Steve set Minnie carefully down in one of the chairs, trying to keep a straight face when it became apparent that the piece of furniture was too big in all directions. So she pulled up her legs, and tucked them in under her tallsweater.

Steve sat down next to her, and took off his shoes.

The sun was riding low already, and cast a shade of red, that let Minnie appear most healthy.

Should start taking photos. she reminded herself. Or else I will never believe that I once lived on a Malibu beach. But, A smile spread on her face, I will always have friends here.

Wow. She, Minken Doorn, née Doorn, has friends in Malibu!

She sucked her lips, and cast a cautious glance from out of the corners of her eyes at her new friend.

Wow. Who could believe this: she was sitting here with the captain of the Malibu police. A real man man. Not just some dude who happens to look manly in a uniform.

A little pout appeared on her lips. Too bad he is a plainclothes detective. Oh wouldn't he look just awesomely amazing in a uniform? Gosh, he has the perfect build for that.

Well okay, he also has the perfect build for suits. - If only his weren't so lamentably wide cut.

But still, his slack pleated pants were the perfect environment for his incredibly sexy butt.

Her hand flew up to her mouth with a startled gasp. Oh my Goodness! Was that really _me_ thinking 'sexy'? I have _never _thought 'sexy' before!

Steve tipped his head to one side. "Something wrong?"

Minnie blushed, but hoped that the red glow of the sun would discreetly camouflage that. "Uh, no. Nothing wrong."

Though it did feel a tad weird that captain of the Malibu police was in his bare feet.

Steve smiled, amused, and delighted too by her rubicundity, and took her hand in his.

He held it in a thoughtful fashion, rubbing it absently. So Minnie assumed that her mental blunder wouldn't get further investigated, and patiently waited for Steve to bring out what was obviously working his mind.

It took him some moments more of looking out at the sea, still rubbing her hand gently, before he finally turned to look at her.

"Say Minnie, is it really such a breeze to live with a disability?"

She laid her hand on top of his, knowing that asking this must have required all his courage, and felt a rush of pride for her valorous police man.

"No it isn't. Not a breeze anyway. And frankly, I admire your Dad immensely for his ease, with which he is going on. You know, for me disability starts when a hand is involved. Even if it is just a finger missing, things start getting awkward. You know, a friend of mine only missed the tip of his middle finger. And he never was able to carry screws in his fist, because they always leaked out where the tip was gone. You know, we were doing janitor work together, and so, sometimes it mattered to carry screws. But anyway. What _I _have is a breeze, compared to what your Dad has to deal with. You know, nobody really needs legs. There are always ways around. And I even was so lucky as to not get disabled before they started making these great sports chairs for every day use. Only two years earlier I would have been fixed up with a clunky folding chair. But with the chairs we have now, and all the other equipment, especially the handcontrol for a car, I'm able to lead a perfectly normal life. Though of course being paralyzed doesn't stop at the inability to walk. There also is the matter of bladder control, and, u-hum," She made a little gesture, "the other side too." She dug out her right leg, and tugged the pantleg up a bit, exposing a flat plastic bag, tied to her lower leg. "It isn't really funny to carry your pee with you all the time. And it makes getting ready in the morning a kind of lengthy experience. Then there is the matter of blood clots. When you sit in a chair all day, your blood gets really sluggish about going up again, and so you get a lot of it just staying there in your feet. You know, it's the muscles that usually transport the blood up again. When the muscles don't work, it's just overcrowdedness that pushes the blood up again. So, you get plenty chances for clots to develop, that might turn loose, and kill you by getting stuck in your lung, or heart or so, or make a stroke when they obstruct the circulation in your brain. And you always have to make sure you don't get dehydrated." she pointed out with a certain wryness. "The blood pressure goes down when you dehydrate, and your kidney need a certain amount of pressure to work properly. Well, and the problems get more and more the higher up the paralysis is. So, I really count myself lucky."

Steve didn't remind her that the level of paralysis had risen to one of those which cause more and more problems.

"But all in all, I think my expectancy of life has gone down at least a decade or so. Well, my life sure needs a lot more thought and consideration. I always have to scout out whether places are wheelchair accessible, and if not what can be done about it. Then I have to make sure I stay warm in winter. My legs can't regulate their temperature anymore. Also I have to take care to not bang my feet against things, because with the poor circulation they don't heal very well anymore, but get damaged all the better, with most of the muscles gone. In the same line I have to see that I'm seated properly, and change my position every once in a while. Would I sit on a hard surface for too long, the skin over my - uh, the bone one sits on, whatever the name might be for that, well the skin would get undersupplied with blood, die off, and the bone would poke through the skin."

Steve gasped and jumped up. Hastily, but with utter care to not bang her feet against the armrests, he cradled her up against his chest, and sat down again, with her seated safely in his lap.

This time it was Minnie who tried to conceal an amused smile.

"It would take a while, you know?" she said, and just to be sure he wouldn't set her back she happily snuggled her head against his shoulder, first taking in his scent, and then letting her breath go again on a content little sigh.

"Well," she went on, "you see being paralyzed needs some planning and considering. But it is not like a burden. When you have a baby, that needs a lot of consideration too. You have to estimate whether it is comfortably warm, or maybe needs a hat. You have to make sure the food hast the proper temperature, or the bathing water, and you have to make sure it isn't lying on something hard that might hurt. When you tell somebody without a baby what it is like to take care of one, it can easily boggle the mind. But when you _have _a baby, it's just what you do."

Minnie paused a moment, just enjoying the sight of the tiny motion of his thumb, where he held her thigh.

"Your Dad's amputation is totally different from what I have. It doesn't so much affect his body, but all the more his everyday life. An amputation becomes weird on the body, when both legs are gone, because the legs are the body's climate control. The blood cools down on its way away from the warm core. That's why double above the knee amputees can do a lot of sweating most of the time. But just half an arm gone is okay. Still, the impact of course is _huge._ Really. I can't even begin to understand how anyone could live with one arm gone. But that is of course because I totally depend on my arms. Well, and of course I have so many hand-hobbies. Which is a good thing, because if I had more walk-hobbies, I'd be pretty screwed. Anyway, only because it gets really tricky to live with just one arm, that doesn't mean one can't accept the challenge. Your Dad is incredibly lucky. Really. At his age people usually start stiffen up. But _his_ hand is just incredibly nimble. Just as he is in general. He can so easily bend over to tie his shoes, even if it takes a little while longer now."

Steve cleared his throat. "I'm amazed that he _can_ tie them at all. I mean, it seems just impossible..."

Minnie shrugged. "Of course it seems. Because _we_ have two hands, and aren't forced to find ways to do it differently."

"And yet, you seem to have a solution all the time." he said, his tone wavering between admiration, and regret for his own inability to approach the subject even remotely level-headed.

Minnie stroked his chest. "Well, I knew that it is possible to lace a shoe with only just three fingers of one hand. The rest your Dad and I figured out together. And well, I used to have a lot of contact to other disabled folks. Not only just paraplegics. I've seen them do a lot of incredible things, and also I'm reading handicapped magazines and things. We are kind of a subculture." she added with a grin. "You haven't arrived yet. Your Dad has been so ill for a long time, that you only saw him as a patient. I'm sure you will soon be able to make that transition to disabled. Only because Mark has a disability now, doesn't make him a perpetual patient. It just means that he will have to do things differently for the rest of his life. But really. He is _so _okay with that. And he will be even more, once he has all his aids and gadgets. He has only just begun to explore his possibilities."

She looked up a bit, and still rubbed his chest for comfort. "I know you all think that he hasn't fully realized what has happened to him, and expect him to drown in shock once he does. But really. He knows exactly well, and he knows how lucky he has been. On all sides. The one thing that is hard on him, is the unease he causes." Minnie wanted to sit up, to be able to look him in the eyes now. But she found she couldn't, and so took his hand instead. "But that does not mean you are hurting him. Really. Your Dad has an amputation. And you need all the time you need to get used to that. It won't help your Dad any, if you would pretend that you are totally at ease, and start touching his stump all the time, just to prove that. You know, like some people constantly patting my knees, even though we have just met, or really are just distant acquaints. - On the other hand, it would be just as strange if you would go out of your way in order to just _not _touch his stump, in a situation where you usually would maybe clap your hand on his shoulder or something."

Steve thought back to last night, where he had just out of reflex given his Dad a squeeze around his upper arm. - His stump.

And how familiar that gesture had felt.

"But why was he so uneasy before?" he couldn't help but wonder.

"Mh." Minnie made a dismissive gesture with her head and brows, so she wouldn't have to let go of Steve's hand. "Unease goes weird ways. Once you know you are making people uneasy, it can make you really pretty uneasy. And if you then don't know how to address matters, well, everything gets awkward. You know, for me it's easy. I'm tiny, and -" She shrugged, "well, kinda cute. I can look up at people with big, innocent eyes, and address things totally bluntly, because all that people perceive is 'cute'. Your Dad on the other hand is a person of authority, and people are used to looking up at him. But that gets in conflict with their pity for him. Hoo boy. Am I glad that nobody has ever looked up at me."

Steve took her under her arms, and held her away a bit to be able to look her in the eyes. "I do." he said softly, seriously, and then brushed his fingers lightly over her reddening cheek.

They looked each other in the eye for a moment, and Minnie almost expected him to draw her back and kiss her mad.

But all he did was that he snuggled her back in place, and stroked her arm with a bit more confidence.

Oh heck who cares? I'm in his arms, and I feel incredibly safe.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank You, Gracie's Mom and he he eh for the reviews. I'm glad that Minnie is received well.**

**Super Human 11**

"Steve," Mark burred gently, "you don't have to go."

Steve sighed, without taking his eyes off Minnie's white little face.

"Let Jesse go for you. They can have a beer on you, and you'll just get to know them as you work with them." And he added with distinct pride under his concern: "You are the boss."

Steve heaved another sigh, and drew Minnie's hand up to his lips, kissing it lightly. Then he laid it down. Under the covers, tucking it carefully under the quilt, because it was so cold.

"Yes I'm the boss." he reaffirmed, and reluctantly rose to his feet.

Mark patted his shoulder, accepting his son's conscientiousness.

"You gonna call me immediately if there is a change?" Steve asked, like he had done a couple of times before already.

"Promise, Son."

Steve stood another moment, casting a long, worried glance over Minnie's slight form.

Then he brushed his fingers tenderly over her cheek, and turned around to leave.

Mark sat down, and checked the printout of the heartmonitor.

* * *

Steve grew really testy.

It was a Saturday forenoon in September, and of course Santa Monica's streets were congested with tourists.

Like a big herd of cattle they streamed over the crosswalk, making it a slow stop-and-go for the cars.

In the end Steve used his bubble light, and dispersed the last startled pedestrians with a couple of yelps of his siren, before his annoyance caused him to burst a vessel or something.

With the streets free before him, he reached Bob's in a mere three more minutes. But the frustrated frown still was on his forehead when he entered his restaurant.

Like the black and white patrol cars - and a bright red Viper- had already advertised, most of crew was already in, and turned their heads upon the jangle of the bell.

Terrell stepped up to him. "Morning Lieutenant. Everything alright?"

Steve waved it off, and tried to relax his facial expression. "Just another crunch."

"The Doc taken another turn for the worse?"

For a moment Steve closed his eyes, and heaved another sigh. "No." he said, as neutrally as possible. "No, he's fine."

Terrell nodded, signaling that he would leave the topic alone if he didn't want to talk about it, and indicated with a gesture that they should start greeting the crew now, when the door opened again.

"Hey, we need a couple of hands here for Brady."

With an unpleasant start Steve realized that his restaurant was not wheelchair accessible, which brought the frown back onto his forehead.

Together with Terrell he went back out, to help to lift the heavy power chair and its not exactly lightweight rider up the tall curb. And while his adjutant started introducing him to his crew, he made a mental note to apply for a curb cut, and a handicapped parking spot in front of the restaurant.

He got himself a bottle of Bud Light, but didn't ping anything against it to get everybody's attention. He knew how to raise his voice to achieve that.

"Morning everybody. Thanks for coming here in your spare time."

"Hey," somebody called, "if there is free beer we'll come whenever you call."

The crowd chuckled, including Steve. "Yeah, I had a hunch that might help." he said wryly. "Anyway, I don't want to bore you with a lengthy speech now. Only for those who haven't heard yet: I'm Lieutenant Sloan, and used to be with the homicide department of the Wilshire Division for six years. As you all know, my Dad, Dr. Sloan, has lost his arm earlier this year, and we are still in the process of getting adjusted, which was the reason for this rather sudden career change. And which is the reason that I will have to be very strict about my work hours. That's the one thing I want to make clear from the beginning. That I won't be available for overtime, that I might be late on some mornings, or leave early. I'm sure things will smooth out in a while, but right now, this is how it is. I'm sure you will understand that."

He made a pause for the supportive murmurs in the positive, and acknowledged them with a thank you.

Then he raised his bottle.

"Well, here's to smooth and successful cooperation."

Bottles and glasses were raised to that in response, and his toast was being drunken to.

Hank, Steve's most reliable employee at Bob's, who mostly worked as a manager, keeping things running while he and Jesse were pursuing their day jobs, saw that the music came back on, making it obvious that the official part of the day was over.

The semi circle dissolved into the little groups that had been there before, and Terrell resumed his place by Steve's side.

They went from group to group, and just made some small talk, exchanging names and positions, and also of course discussing Mark's health.

Until Steve's sleeve was being tugged in such a timid fashion, that he almost expected to see a child standing by his side.

Well, upon a second glance, at least the officer's childhood couldn't be very long gone. Though Steve knew for sure that the boy was grown up, since he was wearing the uniform, his face had definitely failed to develop the masculinity, which might be helpful in his job. His fair hair was light, and a couple of strands were sticking out with static, and his rosy complexion was now emphasized by reddening cheeks, as he stood there, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Yes, officer..." Steve read the name tag, "Wilson?"

"I, um, er,..." Wilson's cheeks grew redder, and perspiration appeared on his forehead.

"Come on Bobby," Terrell admonished him gently. "What is it?"

"I um, was wondering um, Mister Lieutenant - Sir! Is it true that in 1997, after the plane crash, one of the bereaved was prepared to set off a nuclear bomb, right here in L.A.? And that it was _you,_ Sir, who prevented that from happening?"

Steve pursed his lips. This was the second time that case was mentioned, and he looked around the room in search for Sgt. Malloy. But she was standing with her back to him, engaged in a lively discussion with Lt. Sasajima, with whom he had worked on several cases back in Central.

He returned his gaze to Wilson. "Well, actually it was my Dad who had it all figured out, but yes, basically that was so. How would you know about that? It is not supposed to be public knowledge."

Wilson blushed to a deep shade of crimson. "Uh, I... _Skeet, _Sir. I heard her mention it."

Steve nodded enlightened. "I see. - But you are aware that there is a thing called confidentiality?"

Bobby Wilson drew himself up to his full, total height of five foot seven, and stuttered: "Yes Sir. Of course, Sir, Lieutenant Sir."

"The knowledge that a civilian could get hold of enough nuclear material to build a bomb that would have destroyed greater Los Angeles, is not likely to boost the population's confidence in their law enforcing agencies."

"Yes Sir." Wilson muttered abashedly. "I'm... -Sure. It just seemed so," His blue eyes widened. "incredible. And you are now here, standing right in front of me..."

Steve let out a sigh. "Look, Bobby." He automatically used the boy's first name. "I'm really flattered that I'm causing all this excitement. But I'm sure there are less sensitive cases that can be discussed."

Another young man, not in a uniform, turned around. "Oh wow can we? So what was your last case?"

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. His last case, apart from the everyday drive-by shootings and gang killings, had been the murder of his sister.

"I think our last high profile case was when we nailed Calvin Laird for the murder of his girlfriend."

A uniformed officer turned. "Yeah I remember. He was your neighbor on Broad Beach Road. Whew, when that dude set his place on fire, he could have easily burned down half the road, if it wasn't for your quick reaction."

Steve shrugged humbly. "Well, like you said: he was our neighbor. It would have been our place to go down first."

There seemed to be a certain number of young men, who were deeply interested in The Sloans Great Cases, and so they got reviewed for almost an hour.

Skeet Malloy did listen, but today she seemed almost shy, and too embarrassed to actually talk to Steve.

He noticed that the glaring red was gone from her lips and nails, replaced by inobtrusive natural colors. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, and she wore Jeans and a simple checkered blouse.

And sure as hell looked a lot nicer, than all geared up like she had been yesterday.

Nice by the way.

He excused himself, and went into the kitchen. Cook was already preparing for the lunch crowd, so Steve stayed just right behind the door. He picked his cell from his pocket, and texted: "_How is she?"_

_"Still sleeping."_ his Dad texted back.

Steve contemplated to ask if he _really _thought that Minnie was going to be okay, but then decided to not to. His Dad would have told him so.

And there was just no way he would keep Minnie away from hospital, if he thought that she needed to be there.

So. Maybe rest really was just what she needed.

She had thrown up half of the night.

He sighed, and pocketed his phone.

And not willing to go straight back to the crowd, he headed for the restroom instead.

When he opened the door, Kisha, his waitress, jumped up from officer Brady's lap with a startled yelp, straightening her skirt and dabbing her lips self-consciously.

"I'm sorry!" she managed to bring out, and dashed through the door.

Steve felt terrible. Thinking how unfathomably hard it must be for a wheelchair user, to even get as far as kissing a girl, including the pain of getting over his insecurities.

"I'm sorry, Brady." he said, smitten with remorse. "Look, we have a little ante room that's used as our office. I could take the chair out, and make enough room..."

Brady seemed totally unperturbed. "Never mind, Lieutenant." He shifted in his seat to get his proper position back. "That chick wasn't all that hot anyway."

With that he whirred past Steve, out of the door.

Still totally nonplussed when he came from the restroom, Steve bumped into Skeet Malloy, who was apparently looking for something on the floor.

"Sorry." Steve excused himself, and then asked the obvious: "Lost something?"

"Yeah my ear stud." she said, without really looking up. "Hope I can find it. It really means a lot to me."

"What does it look like?"

Malloy presented him her left ear, with a diamond stud in an intricately worked platinum setting.

He didn't whistle, but he made an according face.

Then he bent over. "Did you lose it here?"

"Yes. I heard the faintest click when it fell, but I couldn't make out from where exactly. Or where it rolled to. I hope it didn't roll under that plant container."

"Well," Steve took hold of the edge, braced himself, and lifted the unwieldy box.

Malloy got down on her knees. "There it is! I can see it. - Can you hold it long enough?"

"Not when you keep talking." he wheezed.

Her hand made a quick snipe for the piece of jewelry, and Steve set the palm down with a heavy thump. "Alright?"

She held the stud out triumphantly in response.

He picked it up from her palm. "Can I help you with this?"

"No, better not." She took it back. "The closure is gone. I would only loose it again."

Steve nodded.

"You weren't very much involved in the discussion." he said, while she put the stud in her purse.

"Yeah," she replied wryly, "have made one heck of a fool out of myself yesterday. I thought that is enough."

She turned around, and headed back to the party.

"Officer."

She turned.

"Look." Steve said conciliatory, and took a step after her. "Why don't we leave that behind, and start over again?"

Malloy inclined her head, and with a shy smile took the offered hand. "Why yes, Lieutenant. That - I would appreciate that."

"Good." Steve said relieved. Personnel management would certainly be in his new job description, and he had no intentions to muck up right from the beginning. He steered her towards the bar with a hand on her back. "Let me get you something to drink."

"Thanks, a Diet Coke would be nice."

"Hank, a Diet Coke." he ordered, and then carried the glass to his table.

"And I hope I didn't completely spoil this.." he began, but wasn't really sure how to finish this sentence, without seemingly singing his own praise. "You know, after all, it has been your idea to talk about some of my Dad's cases."

"Oh it really isn't all about Dr. Sloan." she assured him. "I always thought it wasn't fair to put you in his shadow. Aside from those high profile cases, your solving-rate is just outstanding. And you know, actually I was wondering about your last case. You were in charge of the Burnside case, weren't you?"

"Yes I was." he confirmed. "But I couldn't go through with it. It should be in somebody's hands who can dedicate all his time and effort into it."

"And you couldn't?"

"I have other things on my mind."

"I see." Malloy said, the usual amount of pity in her voice like everybody who was referring to his Dad these days. "And so, Dr. Sloan had no part in that investigation?"

"My father has other things on his mind as well."

"I see. Yes. Certainly. Oh my God, I can imagine you are going through harrowing times. - But, I was just thinking, wouldn't the Burnside case have been a perfect vehicle to step out of your father's shadow?"

Steve let his chin come forwards a bit, and his brows go up a fraction. "Sgt. Malloy, I'm not in law enforcement for the fame, or to see my name in print. It doesn't matter if it's my Dad who solves a case, or me. It matters that the bastard who had walked into the courthouse and shot the DA dead, is gonna brought to justice."

The young woman seemed to almost cringe under his cold gaze, and Steve saw that his features smoothed out into friendly again. "Well, the point is, I'm out of it. Burnside was a good man, and he deserves more attention than I am able to give."

He picked up his beer, and took a good swig.

Across the room was officer Brady with a girl draped across his lap, who certainly wasn't Kisha. And another girl was half perched on his armrest, kneading Brady's shoulder while he kissed.

Steve wryly motioned at him with his bottle. "Doesn't seem to be shy, does he?"

"Brady?" Malloy rolled her eyes. "Not that I know of. He hits on like every girl he meets. What makes him bearable is that he isn't sleazy when he makes a move. He's actually pretty witty, and fun to talk to. - And you really can't be mad at him when he dumps you. And, I mean, look at him. His life was over before it had started. What can you say when somebody like him comes on to you? Send him away and break his heart?"

Steve bristled, and to his surprise found a lecture on his tongue, that paraplegia is _not_ the end of your life.

But it didn't come out. - Yet. Instead he glanced at his watch. What the heck was he doing here? This was his day off, and he was supposed to be with his family.

He summoned Terrell, who came duly over.

"Just wondering," Steve said absently, while he texted his Dad: _"Coming home now." _"isn't that behavior of officer Brady leading to, say, complications?"

"What? No. He's just flirting around. And our ladies know what they have to expect from him. I tell you, he's been with us ever since we were installed five years ago, and there never has been even a hint of a grudge. And really, what can you say? Come on, his life is a piece of crap. I'm thinking it's quite an inspiration how he deals with that real rotten hand life has dealt him."

Steve bristled again, and felt like felt like sharing his mind about what an inspirational way is to deal with a disability. But his mobile vibrated, and asked for his attention. _"Yes do so. Think she's gonna wake up in a bit."_

"Okay." he said, "I'm gonna take off now. You will see things will proceed smoothly around here?"

"That I will. Do we have to be out by the time you open?"

Steve wagged his head. "Just see the lunch crowd won't get blocked out by a bunch of cops, who occupy all tables."

"Ya okay I'll do that." Terrell said. "Anything else you need for Monday morning?"

Steve thought for a moment. But his mobile felt like a hot coal in his hand, and he got the distinct impression that he should hurry.

"Well," he said, slightly testy again, "if you can think of anything, I can't."

He turned to leave, but in his sudden rush his sleeve got caught on Malloy's handbag, which went flying, and spilled its contents on the floor.

Of course he still was in a rush, but he was too much of a gentleman to just turn his back.

"I'm sorry." he apologized, and went down on one knee to gather the scattered items.

"Erm, no problem." Malloy tried to assure him, and began to hunt after her belongings too. "Never mind this. You seemed in a hurry?"

"A bit." Steve admitted.

Oh boy. The purse into which she had put the ear stud earlier, hadn't closed well, and now there were a dozen of ear jewelry, some necklaces, and a handful of rings.

And chrissake, it seemed to be all genuine jewelry. Rats. This will take another while. "Hank, bring me a clipboard, will you?"

"Why's that?" Malloy wondered, her voice a good notch above her usual calm. "You should go if you are in a hurry. I can pick this all up myself."

"Sergeant, this is no gimcrack. I'm gonna make a list of every item here, so that we both are on the safe side."

If she came back claiming that one of her diamond pieces was lost here, it could easily crash his insurance.

Hank handed him the clipboard, and he began to meticulously describe the items, with Malloy's surprisingly averse assistance. But how else should he have known that those four little rings, that were joined at the top, and their equatorial sides, were meant to be a little calyx, which held a Tahitian pearl. Chrissake! The rings were platinum, and were peppered with eleven sapphires each. And what would be the stalk of this little floret, was a row of nine diamonds.

And while he put down a lot of carat in writing, he wondered if it was Malloy's extravagant taste that let her date only from the top shelve, of if it was _because_ she dated only high earners, or maybe even top earners, that she had developed a certain lifestyle.

And whether she _really_ thought he could hold up with her taste with his salary.

Finally the list was complete. Steve made a copy for Malloy, one to leave here in the office, in case somebody would find more under some furniture, and put the original in his pocket.

Well, now he could call the party off himself. Bob's would open in another ten minutes.

Leaving Hank in charge, he hurried out to his car, and left rubber on the tarmac when he sped off the lot.

* * *

Mark was sitting on the edge of Minnie's bed, comparing his notes with the results of the various blood tests he had already been running, and the results of last nights examinations.

Two of his friends, one a very renowned gastroenterologist from the Good Samaritan Hospital, and one the neurologist and expert on spinal cord injury, had come by last night, when Minnie couldn't stop throwing up, and given her the best examinations that could be done without greater machinery.

And taking into consideration that her bloodwork was pretty clean, that antiemetics didn't have any influence on the sickness, they all had come to the conclusion that it was after all Minnie's autonomic nervous system, reacting to the higher level of paralysis.

Which didn't make Mark any happier.

A somatic reason could be treated a lot more easily.

Around midnight she had finally fallen asleep, from sheer exhaustion, and nearly slept straight through twelve hours.

For a while she had been restless now in her sleep, and tried to roll around. Elena, today's nurse, helped her with that, but to Mark's greatest dismay Minnie was so uncomfortable, that silent tears started rolling down her cheeks, escaping from closed eyes.

Her back obviously caused her pain, and Mark was really reluctant to inject more analgesics.

But those tears were just too much for him to bear, and so he filled another syringe. He injected it very slowly, and heaved a resigned sigh when the heartmonitor converted the flutter of her heart into unpleasantly shrill noises.

He discarded the still almost full syringe, and slowly began to feel the first distinct hints of desperation.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes since Steve had texted. So he would be back in maybe ten, fifteen minutes.

Mark heaved another sigh.

Elena leaned over, and rolled Minnie around on her right side, like she was trying to.

But the relief of the new position didn't even last for a minute, and Minnie squirmed again.

Oh this was terrible.

"Please remove the brace." he said with sudden determination. And Elena didn't question that decision for a second, because Minnie's hands were constantly trying to slip under the hard plastic, or push it away.

She undid the closures, and took the shell carefully away.

And the first thing Minnie did, was taking a deep, quivering breath.

Though she still didn't wake up.

Mark went around the bed, got in from the other side, and leaned against the headboard.

With Elena's help he gathered Minnie up on his chest, tucking a pillow under her, to curve her back out a bit. And was rewarded with almost instant tranquilization.

He dropped a relieved kiss on Minnie's fair head, and tucked her in a bit more.

With a little motion of his hand he indicated that Elena could go now into the livingroom, began to hum softly, and very gently rubbed Minnie's back, in an attempt to ease her pain a bit.

The only indication that she was awake was, when she began to stroke his chest with a little motion of her fingers, sticking out from her cast.

"You know that I can feel the vibration in your chest," she whispered, "when you are singing with that wonderfully burry deep voice?"

Mark smiled and kissed her head again. "Good morning, Honey. How are you?"

"Can you imagine?" she purred, "My personal space is totally inside yours, and I'm not frightened at all." She breathed a little sigh. "I'm all wonderfully safe."

Her head came up a little bit. "Hoo, it seems machinery has been sprouting last night."

"Yes it did." He gave her another kiss on her head, and carefully let her slide back into the nest of her pillows, guiding her safely there with his stump.

Minnie's cheeks grew pink with excitement, and her eyes shone as she marveled up at him, breathing: "Wow, look how _strong_ your little arm is."

Mark chuckled, delightfully amused, and deeply pleased, and dropped a kiss on her forehead before he stood up and went back around the bed. Steve better make up his mind soon, because if he himself hadn't already, he would have decided right now that he wanted _this_ sweet little girl as his daughter-in-law.

He sat down on the edge again, and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "You don't remember much of last night?"

She pushed up her lower lip, to illustrate that she was thinking.

"Not so much. I distinctly remember that I was a serious disruptive factor to everybody's appetite, when my stomach let go the moment Steve set me down at the table."

"Never mind everybody's appetite. You recall any more?"

She drew the quilt up to her chin. "I was cold."

Mark sighed, and laid his hand where her shoulder was under the covers. "Yes."

She lifted the quilt a bit to check her outfit, but found that she was just in her pajamas.

But maybe Steve's socks were still on her feet.

She reached down, but it was impossible to get a good hold on her thigh and pull it up.

Mark cocked an eyebrow at her. "Hm?"

"The socks." she whined. "Are they at least still in place?"

"Yes they are." he assured her, and a little smile was tugging at his lips as he peeled her foot out from under the covers to show her.

Minnie breathed a pleased sigh, and again looked like a little sparrow that was about to fluff its feathers with glee.

Then she looked inconspicuously around. "Is he gone to work already?"

Mark tucked her foot back. "Not to work. It's Saturday today. But he went to a gathering with his new colleagues, to get to know them a bit."

Minnie seemed thrilled, and gushed under her breath: "His _underlings_!"

"Yes." he laughed softly. "His underlings."

"Oh he is awesome," Minnie gushed with shining eyes, "isn't he?"

"Yes he is."

"Really?" she wondered, making Mark chuckle with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Ya I think so." he confirmed, ending on a quizzical upstroke.

"Wow." Minnie breathed in awe.

"Hm?" he inquired mystified.

She shrugged with pink cheeks. "I _think _so. But how would I know? I don't even know his age, do I?"

Mark flinched. "You don't know how old he is?"

Minnie tucked her chin back, a bit wary by his reaction. "Ah, no."

Mark looked like Jesse when he knows exactly he's giving away unpopular things. "He's fifty-one."

She gasped. "Now _is_ he? Oh my God, and I thought _I_ was generous with my estimate. Gosh is he _really_?" Her cheeks glowed. "Wow, he sure is a man."

Mark chuckled, by all means relieved, and suddenly Minnie started. "Oh my gosh!" She fanned her hand up and down before her face. "If _Steve _is fifty-one, _you _can't be _sixty_!"

He seemed to be utterly amused now, and tee-hee-ed in his merry way. "I am seventy-seven."

Minnie's eyes were huge, and she gasped again. But this time the deep breath was too much, and let her vision black out.

"Hey, Honey." Mark gently patted her cheek. "Honey?"

It took her some moments to focus.

"Hm?"

He shook his head with a very heavy sigh, and cupped her face in his hand. "Honey this is no good." He glanced at his watch. "You know, it's still early enough to call your sister. Don't you think you should let them know, and make sure they can get prepared to keep the children longer? I really would like to make it official that you stay." He kissed her forehead. "The thought that you might have to leave in only a couple of days really worries me."

Minnie's face crinkled up. "But Eske will only worry if I tell her I will stay."

"Yes." Mark said softly, looking her in the eyes. "Yes she will. As I do too."

"Oh please don't worry." Minnie said, instantly assuming a more upbeat expression. "I mean, I spilled all my meals yesterday, so no wonder that I get the blackouts. That happens all the time. Really. No worries."

Mark cupped her face again and was all mellow, but serious. "Please, Minnie, will you do it?" And for emphasis he added entreatingly: "For me?"

She took his hand dismayed in hers, and rubbed his arm for comfort. "Why yes. If this is so important to you, then of course I will call her. Please don't worry, okay?"

He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss, and dropped another one on her forehead with a relieved smile. "Good girl."

He went to get the phone from the livingroom, and stopped a moment to call Steve.

"Where are you, Son? You should have been home by now. Something happen?"

Steve made an impatient noise. "There was a stupid delay. I only just left Bob's. Is she awake?"

"Yes, she came around a while ago."

"How is she?"

"Well, you know her. She's not having any of it that she is ill."

Steve smiled to himself. Yes. That sounded like Minnie.

"Give me fifteen minutes."

"Okay." Mark agreed, and clicked off.

"Steve will be here in fifteen minutes." he told Minnie, as he passed her the phone, and relished in the excited glow that information produced on her face.

She was right, they didn't know much about each other. Maybe they could spend the day with some photo albums on the couch, just sharing stories.

A little smile appeared on his lips. He would be talking about Carol, and he wasn't afraid of it.

Until now, in good Sloan family tradition, her death had been accepted with stoic resignedness, and after they had scattered her ashes, had never be mentioned again, just to avoid the raging pain.

But now... - He realized that Minnie wasn't dialing, and dropped out of his musings to give her an inviting look.

"Ah, you think you could pass me my backpack please?" she said timidly, "I kind of don't know the number. I mean, I _do_ know that it has a seven and a two in it. But really, calling from another continent adds a lot of weird numbers."

Mark chuckled, and opened the wardrobe to get the rucksack.

And was surprised to find that it was remarkably heavy. "Criminy, what's in here? Bricks?"

"Ah, might be my dictionary that makes it a bit heavy." Minnie allowed. She opened the zipper, and pointed at a huge yellow tome inside.

"Honey, you realize that there are _pocket _editions for travelers?" Mark pointed out amused.

"Ya. No good. I won't find any word I need in one of those. I learned it by heart. So, _if_ I'm stumped, I most probably find the solution in this."

"You learned a _whole _dictionary by _heart_?" Mark repeated, to be sure he hadn't gotten her wrong.

"Ya well no of course not really. I mean, I knew a lot of words already. I just went through the dictionary, and learned all those I hadn't known."

"Honey. That still is amazing!"

Minnie shrugged. "Ya well, I _had_ to, hadn't I?One _has_ to keep ones brains moving and fit. I mean, you wouldn't have wanted me to come here, and be all dumb and ditzy, would you?"

Mark laughed softly, and kissed her on her forehead. "No Honey. I wouldn't."

Pleased by that she dug into the backpack, and extracted a little note slip with the telephone number.

She picked the phone up again, and cast Mark a look, who obviously made an effort to ignore the open bag.

"You wanna snoop around in that?" she invited him, and got a very pleased chuckle in response.

So she dialed her sister's number, and Mark began to empty her baggage item by item.

The phone hooted unpleasantly loud in her ear, and she nervously tried to prepare herself to not sound alarming at all.

Speak loud and clear. she admonished herself, and automatically tried to straighten her posture. Don't use alarming words. You are all fine.

"Reinhard." her sister's voice interrupted her preparations.

"Ah, uh, hi Eske, it's me." she said brightly as possible. "Minnie."

Eske took in a deep breath, and Minnie knew it was a storm collecting over her head. "Now you call?" her sister seethed, catching Minnie totally by surprise. "For heaven's sake! We've been waiting all day to hear from you!"

"I... But..." Minnie stuttered perplexed.

"For crying out loud!" Eske grew more and more indignant. "A police officer returns your car, saying you had an accident, and you disappear completely from the face of the Earth! You cancel your room, and leave _no_ hint where you are off to!"

Minnie's face grew white when she realized her blunder, and how much worry she must have caused.

"Dammit!" Eske swore. "We were just about to call the Foreign Office!"

Minnie shrank into her pillow, and peeped meekly: "Sorry."

Mark looked up with a frown. This was not what he had in mind when he insisted on this call. Though the talking was in German, which Mark didn't understand, Minnie was definitely stressed, and her heart rate grew perturbingly unsteady.

"Sorry? That is all you have to say? For heaven's _sake_! What happened?"

"I, uh, fell out of my chair." Minnie said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I mean the accident." Eske jogged her.

"That... _was_ the accident."

Minnie knew how ridiculous that sounded, but there was nothing she could do. Her brain refused to come up with any better explanation, and the room started to float and reel around her.

She needed air! She needed to take deeper breaths! Faster, or else she would suffocate!

"Honey, try to calm down." Mark burred close by her ear, though she couldn't really see him behind all those black and red dots swimming through her vision.

Minnie took breath after breath, quicker and quicker as she tried to come up with words.

"Elena," Mark called, "bring a paper bag from the kitchen! Second drawer." Then he turned back to Minnie, who lay shaking, with clicking teeth. "Honey, calm down please."

He began to pry the phone from her clammy white hands, but suddenly it came loose all by itself, when Minnie's hand grew slack.

"Elena!"

* * *

Steve sat in his office, the door closed, as well as the blinds out towards the squad room, trying to concentrate on Sgt. Malloy's records file, despite the uncooperativeness of the words, which danced around the page.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed.

For two days Minnie was now in a coma, and here he was, bothering with Sgt. Malloy again.

he smacked the file on his desk, and trudged over to the door, yanking it open. "Terrell."

His adjutant jumped up, and followed him in, closing the door on Steve's gesture.

"You had a rough weekend?" he ventured cautiously, well aware that Steve apparently didn't like to talk about his private life.

Steve dropped heavily back into his chair and scratched his forehead with the back of his thumb. "We were in hospital."

Terrell nodded.

Seemed the doctor was a lot worse than everybody believed.

He wondered if he should make a sympathetic comment, but then thought better of it. Lt. Sloan wasn't known to be overtly emotional.

Steve leaned back, and put his ankle up on his knee. "What can you tell me about Malloy?"

Terrell shrugged. "What I told you on Friday."

Steve slid the file across the desk. "She is a cop. How can she afford a Viper, and a bagful of diamonds?"

"Like I said: she came out here to meet her biological father."

"Who would that be?" Steve inquired. "The file isn't very forthcoming on that."

"Sure not. He isn't named in her documents." Terrell said. "Her mother got together with her stepfather while she still was pregnant I think, or very soon after she was born, and the guy adopted her. He was running a little car repair shop in..." He leafed through the file, "Hoboken, New Jersey."

"So, and she decides to come out here and get to know daddy, who incidentally feels bad about not having been a big part of her life, and starts lining her pockets like a Santa with a helper syndrome?"

"Well, I've heard stranger things to happen. - Listen Lieutenant, I'm not too sure what this is about. Skeet is a fine guy. She loves her job, and does it despite her extra income. Like you are doing your job, despite your prime Malibu beachfront home, and your upscale home in Brentwood, which I'm sure pays a sturdy monthly income."

Steve deflated with a huge sigh. "Yeah you are right."

He stood up, and poured two coffees. "I don't even know what set me off like this." He handed Terrell a mug, and took a good gulp from his own. "I don't mean to discredit her. - I think it just feels strange to be in charge of a whole station."

"And I doubt that your current set of problems in your private life make it any easier on you."

Steve heaved another sigh. "Yeah well..."

"Skeet's résumé has been checked when she entered the force." Terrell told him confidently. "If there had been any doubts about her, it would have been addressed before."

"Yes, certainly." Steve agreed, and scrubbed his hand down his face to his chin.

"Is the doctor still in hospital" Terrell dared to ask.

Steve looked out of the window, unseeing eyes on the bird-of-paradise flowers. Instead his mind flashed him an image of Minnie, small and white and frail in her hospital bed, connected to a ventilator, monitors, and a battery of medication pumps. A feeding line went into her nose, and it pained him every time to see just how much mush they squirted into her, knowing the bulk would make her uncomfortable. He also couldn't help but worry, if the meals they gave her would be okay with her. Rationally he knew that her coma prevented her from minding what she was eating. But some irrational part of him, that went way back to his own youth, well, _did_ worry.

He sighed. "Yes, he stays in hospital for a while." he answered Terrell's question.

And that wasn't a lie. Mark had set Minnie up in his own ward, and stayed with her day and night, sleeping in the second bed in her room.

"He's going through tough times, eh?"

"Er, yes." Steve confirmed absently.

Terrell went as far as clasping his hand around Steve's upper arm. "My wife and I are saying prayers for him."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Steve was sure that God wouldn't mind the little redirection to Minnie.

Terrell downed his coffee, and rinsed the mug. "And don't worry about Skeet." he said on his way out. "She's a good gal."

Steve nodded with a smile.

But alone the mentioning of her name had brought back that slightly irritating nagging sensation somewhere at the back of his mind.

It had been there almost all weekend. But he just couldn't put his finger on it.

And his worries about Minnie had drowned out that little whisper anyway most of the time.

Not so now.

He picked up his phone and speed-dialed a stored number.

"Captain Johnson? Lt. Sloan here."

* * *

Mark went around the bed, and in turn lifted Minnie's hands and feet, and laid them gently back down in a slightly different position.

Then he sat down again by her bedside, and slipped his hand under hers, caressing it tenderly with his thumb.

"Mark."

Amanda came in with a folder under her arm.

"Found something?" Mark asked anxiously.

"Not what I was looking for anyway." the pathologist replied, and opened the file. "But her inflammatory factors are increasing."

Mark sighed, and gave Minnie's hand a squeeze before he took the file. "CRP up to forty-seven."

"I'll keep checking. But it looks it is a local incident."

Mark put the file down and felt Minnie's forehead.

No temperature.

But a central line always is an easy entrance for bacteria, and what's more, also a super highway straight to the heart.

So taking cultures from the port, and another vein, was the first step of getting to the bottom of this, earliest possible, and administering antibiotics came right after that.

An endocarditis had to be avoided by all means.

A nurse added a drip with an intravenous antibiotic, and Amanda left with her samples, giving Mark a squeeze around his shoulders.

Left alone with Minnie in the semi quiet room, Mark sat down by her side again, and went on to caress her hand, humming very softly to her.

It wasn't long until Steve came in. He wore a protective gown, and washed and disinfected his hands before he finally stepped up to her side.

"How is she?"

Mark sighed. "No worse yet, but she seems to be developing an infection."

All air escaped Steve, but no words came with that. He just gave his Dad a look, pleading to ease the worry.

"We already started a round of antibiotics."

"But..." Steve battled for his composure. He had seen what good antibiotics are, when his Dad's chest wound was infected, and nothing could be done against it.

"Son, we caught it at the earliest stage. The samples we had taken only two hours earlier showed no sign of infection." He took Steve's hand. "Come. Sit with her. Try to relax. She needs you calm and steady."

Steve sighed, and tried to compose himself.

He wouldn't have believed it if somebody had told it, but Minnie always reacted to his presence. Her heartbeat always grew a notch stronger when he was with her. The monitor was hard proof of that.

He sat down, and carefully took her small, cool hand in his.

And the heart rate evened instantly.

Steve couldn't see why that was so, but it undeniably pleased him, deep down inside.

Correction: it pleased him all over.

Mark pulled up another chair, and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, taking Minnie's other hand in his.

They both caressed the hand they were holding, Steve including her forearm in his ministrations.

"Dad?"

"Yes Son?"

"How is this possible?" Steve inquired softly, carefully keeping his tone of voice level. "I mean, she doesn't look ill. And she never acted ill. Apart from her being obviously sick. But she looks by no means haggard. How could this turn into such a life threatening situation?"

"You are right. What makes her weight loss sound so dramatic, is due to the loss of muscle. But she _has_ lost twenty pounds in rather a short time, which is stress for the body. Then she spent a whole month with basically no sleep to speak of, which was even more stress." Mark shrugged with a sigh. "And stress seems to be the main factor. Minnie isn't just worried to cause hassle, she is downright scared to." Another sigh. "And you see, there is a point where weight loss can barely reversed anymore. The body practically consumes itself. Just keeping the body alive and running becomes a strain at some point. And any extra, like a panic attack, or continuous vomiting, has an impact on the body like a hard work out. You see, she has lost almost four pounds since Wednesday. Despite the infusions. But," he added when he saw his son's appalled expression, and walked around to the foot board of the bed, where he pressed a button on a display, attached to the board. "she has now already gained one pound point six."

Steve arched his brows. "How can you tell?"

Mark pointed at the wheels of the bed, which all four seemed to be having a boxy bracket around them. "The bed is standing on a scale. Like that we don't have to cause Minnie any discomfort by putting her on the stretcher of the old weighing system we used to use."

Steve had to smile. "You bought this?"

"Minnie didn't like the other system." Mark said, and tugged Steve's quilt up a bit to her chin. "She was freezing on that skimpy, shaky stretcher."

Steve's smile grew, all mellow with love for Minnie, and understanding for his Dad's motives. And even though there was nothing else to take hold of than the stump, he reached over the bed and gave Mark an affectionate, and reassuring squeeze there.

And he didn't let immediately go again, but rub-squeezed it for some moments, trying to convey his support.

And Mark perceived it all.

Though neither of them dared to look. Not even at each other. Not out of embarrassment, but it would have added a tad too much emotionality. The tad they usually steadfastedly try to avoid.

But Mark leaned down and kissed Minnie's forehead, thinking 'Thank you, Honey.'

* * *

"What kind of fucking news is _that_? He _probably_ doesn't know anything. He _probably _is too caught up in his family matters. You are _almost _ninety percent sure he is blind as a bat. Oh _great_! I feel almost ninety percent safe! Fuck! I told you to get into his pants!"

"And how am I supposed to do that if he isn't interested?"

"How hard can that be? For crying out loud, that dude hasn't seen the inside of a girl's briefs in a _year_. He should be between your legs now, drooling."

"I can't help it if he isn't interested. Maybe he has somebody else."

"No he hasn't. Nobody has seen him with a girl ever since the doc got himself smashed up."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do."

"You'd better. Because I won't take 'probably' for an answer much longer. If you can't come up with a definite 'no', I'm gonna take him out."

"No! No more killings! One was enough!"

* * *

Steve sat on the edge of Mark's desk, a bottle of Bud Light in hand, looking around the seemingly vast expanse of the living room.

After the bustle of the past months, and especially last week, the house seemed infinitely lonely.

He took a swig from the bottle.

Was it really only just a week since he had carried Minnie in here?

Or rather, was it really just a week since he had sat on the deck in the night, brooding over his beer because he had accidentally looked at his Dad's stump?

There. He could now even - at least _think_ it in clear terms. If he could also say it? Well, time would show. He would sure not say it out loud now just to himself.

Just one week. And everything had changed.

_He_ had changed.

And he wanted his life to take the ultimate change.

Tomorrow he would meet the Miller's, the tenants of his house in Brentwood.

He didn't want Minnie to go back to Germany. It was no safe place for her.

He would offer her to marry him. So she could stay here with him. And his computerized home seemed just perfect for her. Everything was voice controlled, and there even was a lift

It didn't matter that she couldn't have sex. Wasn't it said that friendship was a lot more important to make a marriage work?

He took another swig, emptying the bottle.

For the first time in his life he was not unsure whether he would be up to a marriage. If he would be able to commit himself enough. If he was able to make a woman happy.

For the rest of her life.

He smiled. Minnie was unmistakably happy with him. And it didn't require anything special. Just his presence.

The thought elated him.

All his life he had felt like he had to have make up to his girls for just the fact that they had been so gracious to date him. That he had to wear clothes for them he wasn't comfortable in, but that wouldn't embarrass them to be seen with him.

With Minnie it was the total opposite. It was _him_ who felt embarrassed to wear his oldfashioned checkered jackets, and the whole week he had seen that he had been wearing those jackets he had bought on other women's insistence.

He smiled, and stood up to bring his bottle back to the kitchen, and then went to lock the deck door.

Up on the shelve stood his Dad's old Madonna.

And just to be sure he stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes for a moment, and sent a little prayer, and the plea to accept prayers for his Dad for Minnie.

Though he felt a lot more confident than in the afternoon.

Minnie's inflammatory factors hadn't gone up any more, and the source had been detected to be the operation site, where the blood clot had been removed from her spinal canal.

So with that under control, it was just a matter of her gaining weight, which she did.

He switched out the lights, and cast another look into Minnie's vacated room.

The contents of her backpack had been stacked neatly on the night case, before the nurse and Francine had left on Saturday. Steve's curiosity sure was piqued, but he really wouldn't want to breach Minnie's privacy.

But he recalled the load of CDs in her bag, and took them all down with him. He would listen through them, and take some of them to the hospital tomorrow.

His Dad said her subconscious would register what was going on around her, and hearing her music would certainly register well.

It still puzzled him why she had all those CDs, but no means to play them.

On his way he locked the front door, and went down the stair to his part of the house.

Too bad. But the Beach House was not suitable for a wheelchair.

He wasn't very happy to leave his Dad now, but after this one week he had no doubts that he would get along on his own.

Well okay, he _had _spent some thoughts on buying another place by the beach where they could live together with his Dad. But like he had just told Minnie, this was about the only safe place for a beach house in Malibu, and also he knew that his Dad could never stand the idea of selling his home, where he had been happy with his Mom.

Well, same went for himself. This was their family home.

He entered his bedroom, stacked the CDs on his night stand, and went to dig out his portable CD player.

He put in fresh batteries, laid it next to the CDs, and went to take a shower, as was his habit ever since he became Detective in 1990, after he had been called out early in the morning with really weird looking hair once too many. Ever since then it was his rule to get himself fresh and presentable_ before_ he went to bed.

More so even because he had neglected his rule over the weekend.

Freshly showered, he grabbed a fresh pair of boxer briefs, shaved, and blow-dried his hair back up in shape.

Then he got into his bed, propped himself up against the head board, and began to listen to Minnie's music.

* * *

Steve woke up with a start. He didn't even know why, but the nagging sensation in the back of his head was gone, replaced by a sudden clarity.

He put on a T-Shirt, and headed out to his desk in his bare feet.

The Burnside case was up front in his file cabinet, and he unerringly found the entry he was looking for.

Before he had been killed, Burnside had purchased a pair of earrings. A stylized calyx of four joined platinum rings, studded with eleven sapphires each, and holding a Tahitian pearl, according to the jeweler, to whom the receipt in Burnside's papers had led him.

The earrings couldn't be found anywhere, so it was self-evident that Burnside had been dating somebody.

That had actually been the point when Steve had realized that this case was too much for his restricted attention right now. The overall impression of Burnside's closest friends and colleagues had been that he hadn't seen anybody since his divorce. And since nobody had come forward as his girlfriend, Steve had handed the case over.

So, what the heck was going on?

If Sgt. Malloy _was _that mysterious girlfriend, why hadn't she come forward?

And Steve was more than ready to believe that she was it, because the attempted nuclear assault on Los Angeles was confidential, at least as much as possible, and one of the few people who knew about it, had been DA Burnside.

Steve stood up and headed for the kitchen, to make himself a cup of coffee.

And on second thought he went upstairs, and raided his Dad's fridge.

An empty stomach doesn't think well.

Fortified with sandwiches, coffee, and a bag of Pork Cracklins, he resumed his thinking.

For one thing he knew exactly that no red Viper had been parked in the underground parking of the courthouse, nor in the parking structure across the street.

But just to be on the safe side, he checked all names of police officers on any kind of duty on the day of the shooting.

After all, being a cop was the easiest way of getting a gun into a courthouse.

Well, Malloy's name didn't come up. But two of the Malibu station's officers had been there to testify. Time was about right. Sgt. Jenkins, and Lt. Valenti.

He made a note of the names, and sighed. He sat back, put his ankle up on his knee, and picked a Cracklin from the bag to chew it thoughtfully. He was right back at square one. To the big question that had baffled him from the beginning: who in the world was so stupid to kill a DA in his office? A place with tight security. Where every visitor left a blazing bright trail.

Why not catch him discreetly on his way home, sniping him from the safety of a stolen car? The killer hadn't been shy about advertising Burnside's death as murder. Had he tried some intricately disguised masterpiece of the perfect murder, Steve might be able to see why the courthouse could be chosen as the stage.

But a blunt killing?

And yet, Steve had to admit, however blunt the killing was, until now nobody had been able to figure it out.

So, again: what had happened?

What was the bigger picture?


	12. Chapter 12

**Super Human 12**

Steve was sitting at his desk, hunched over, trying to read a file with his bleary, bloodshot eyes.

Terrell was going back and forth, bringing more files, and talking to Steve under his breath.

The door to his office stayed open, and the crew wondered what was going on.

Again Steve blew his nose, and dabbed the tissue irritably at some tears in the corners of his eyes, and then stood up with a jolt, to pour himself a coffee.

When he found the carafe empty, he flung it back with so much clatter, that everybody in the squad room looked up.

"Somebody bring the Lieutenant a coffee please." Terrell requested in a tone of voice, that tried to make up for Steve's unruly behavior.

Nalani Keawehami was nearest to the coffeemaker, quickly poured a cup for her obviously impatient superior, and delivered it at Terrell's desk. "What's going on?" she whispered.

"The Lieutenant is wrapping up. It seems Dr. Sloan is really bad."

"Wrapping up?"

"He is about to quit. Partially at least. I'm gonna take over most of his duties."

Nalani sneaked a glance into the office, where Steve was blowing his nose again.

"The poor Lieutenant." she murmured sympathetically. "And he has tried so hard to appear strong and composed. Oh how terrible."

Nalani returned to her place, and Terrell brought Steve his coffee.

"Thanks." Steve said, keeping his head down, embarrassed by his teary eyes.

"If there is anything I can do..." Terrell offered cautiously.

Steve shook his head with a heavy sigh. "You are doing much more than anybody could expect already. It will be a great help when I can adjust my schedule around my few official meetings."

"Will you announce the changes? Or would you want me to do that for you?"

"I don't think so. Not before I'm leaving officially. For now I just need some time off."

Terrell nodded.

Steve looked out into the squad room. "Is Malloy in?"

"Yes, she just returned. Shall I get her?"

"Yes please."

Steve leaned back, and closed his eyes for a minute.

"Lieutenant?"

He turned around. "Yes. Sergeant. Do come in."

Malloy entered tentatively, and remained standing.

"I have to apologize again," Steve said with earnest penitence, "for dropping your handbag."

"Oh please, never mind. I gather you had gotten bad news on your cell?"

"Yeah." Steve confirmed heavily. "Our friend, Dr. Travis, had kept me informed about my Dad's state." He sighed. "It was to be expected that we would have to take him back to hospital." Another sigh. "Anyway. Dr. Travis is my partner at Bob's. And I just want to let you know that he will be in charge for the time being. If you notice there is any more jewelry missing, or that anything broke, I would appreciate if you would talk to him."

"I really think we've got it all. And I don't think that a fall from a table could break any of it."

Steve looked her in the eyes. "Still. Let us be thorough. And only because I don't have the mind for it right now, doesn't mean I slink out of my obligations."

"Thank you, Lt. Sloan. I really appreciate that."

"Again, I have to thank you. You could have raised quite some hell over my clumsiness."

Malloy made a dismissive gesture, and took a step forward to lay her hand on Steve's arm. "I just hope the doctor will have a speedy recovery."

He heaved a sigh, and his chin dropped heavily down to his chest.

"No recovery?" Malloy inquired stricken.

"We will have to see. But right now he is in a coma."

Malloy gasped. "Oh my God. That must be terrible for you."

Steve didn't oppose her.

"God I'm so sorry." And very tentatively Sgt. Malloy slid her hand up Steve's arm, and kneaded his shoulder to give him a little comfort in his obvious pain.

And Steve seemed to relax a fraction.

"If there is anything I can do. Maybe if you just need somebody to talk..."

He nodded. "I appreciate that."

Malloy began to move her hand towards Steve's back, and he still seemed to enjoy it.

But suddenly he started, and cast a look at his watch. "Chrissake. I have to meet with the doctors."

He grabbed his jacket, and rushed out.

* * *

Steve put on a gown from the little cart before the room, and entered. The curtain parted while he was washing his hands.

"Hey Son. - Uuuh, you look terrible. Very nice touch. It warms my heart that you are planning to shed some tears after my demise."

"Dad." Steve spread the monosyllable over a surprisingly large number of pitches. "Can we agree that Dad-demise-jokes are not very well received here? I would appreciate if you could go on wrapping me up in some cotton wool for another couple months, okay?"

Mark chuckled, and gave his son a clap on his back.

"So how is Minnie?"

"Oh fine. The antibiotics work like a charm, and she keeps gaining weight." Mark sat down by Minnie's side. "Now, what's all this about?"

Steve shook his head and raised his hands. "I'm not too sure. I just got the distinct feeling that somebody was extremely disturbed by my appearing in the Malibu station. There is that one officer that tried to get close to me from almost the moment I set foot onto the premise. And last night I found out that she has a pair of earrings just like the one Burnside had bought a week before he died."

"So I take it it's no trumpery you can get on every second corner?"

"Platinum, eighty-eight sapphires, Tahitian pearls, and eighteen diamonds."

Mark whistled.

"Almost nine thousand Dollars."

"Wow. I can imagine that didn't make Mrs. Burnside very happy. - So you think your officer is that undiscoverable girlfriend?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

"You think she killed him?"

Steve shrugged. "She hasn't been in the courthouse. At least there are no records."

"And what now?"

"Well, I think I will just play along. I think she tried to sound me out why I had given up the case, and how much I had found out. Plus she seemed relieved that you had no part in the investigation. So I thought I should give her some peace of mind. With you in a coma it will be very obvious that you aren't snooping around. And it gives me enough on my mind to not think about criminal investigations." He shrugged again. "And I will see where this will take me. Meanwhile I'm following some ideas with the Chief."

* * *

The call came in the late afternoon.

"You were right, Son. Somebody tried to make damn sure if I really am out cold. An officer Scott Benally."

"Never heard."

"You'll get a picture by courier. Since the computer will be no good for identifying anybody." Mark added ruefully.

"Thanks. - I take it he didn't make it into your room?"

"Not a chance. He tried it twice, but your guards did a marvelous job."

Steve nodded pleased. He had put three three private investigators in medical outfits, to patrol the floor in loose succession, and hinder any stranger to enter Minnie's room on medical reasons.

Private eyes, because he had no idea what to expect, and he didn't want to tip anybody off by inadvertently selecting cops known to whoever tried to get in.

Mark had also seen that Minnie was completely gone from the paperworks. It was now officially Mark's room. Just in case somebody tried to sneak a glance at the papers. Wouldn't have been the first time.

Steve himself and Mark had often enough applied that technique. And whoever did try that approach, would immediately have his picture taken.

"Now what's your next move?"

"Well, first I want to see who your visitor was. I have a feeling this is the first solid lead in this case. And then I will try and see if I can get near enough to Jonathan Wentworth to ask a couple of questions. He is the alleged biological father of Sgt Malloy."

"Jonathan?" Mark said in that tone he uses when he gets reminded of his old friends.

"Jonathan Wentworth." Steve confirmed slightly long-sufferingly. "Founder of Skyline Industries, and not available to us mere mortals. You know him?"

"Oh, yes. Jon was my patient for - almost a decade. Back in the seventies, and I think into the eighties. - Yes. Until he moved out to Thousand Oaks."

"To his own little kingdom." Steve inserted wryly.

"How old is your Sgt. Malloy?" Mark asked.

"Twenty-six."

"So she was born in nineteen seventy-seven." Mark mused. "Yeah, that might just fit."

"What would fit?" Steve prompted him.

"You know, Jon had testicular cancer around nineteen-eighty, and was never able to have a child with his wife. And I remember distinctly how he often complained that he had wasted his sperm on 'that trollop from New York'. Apparently he had some kind of short-lived, ill-fated affair while he was back east, and a couple of months after they broke up he received letters that he was about to become a father."

Steve arched his brows. "So Malloy actually _is_ his daughter?"

"Might very well. Why is it so important?"

Steve shrugged. "She's driving around in a Viper, and sports a lot of bling. She claims her biological father likes to give her pressies."

"Jon? Oh I don't think so. He knew that he was just meant to be a cash cow, and refused to pay without a parentage verification. I think the mother didn't agree to that. I'm sure he never paid a penny."

"Well, Malloy claims that he regrets now that he never cared."

"Hmm, of course that _might _be. After all, he always wanted a child. And the girl can't help what her mother had done..."

"Right. Say, you see any way I can talk to Wentworth, without tipping Malloy off that I still am investigating?"

"Dunno, Son. I sure could get you in there. But if he has made up with her, he might want to talk to her."

Steve nodded. "I fear. Well, knowing all this now, I can take that off the top of my to-do list. I think for now I can concentrate on that Scott Benally. Let's see what that lead yields."

* * *

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